


Dust On Every Page

by poetzproblem



Series: Don't Blink [20]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, Discovery, F/F, Jealousy, Makeup Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running into her ex-girlfriend is already bad enough without also having to deal with the most annoying of her supposed best friends. She's done a pretty good job of avoiding the both of them since she'd moved to New York five months ago—that's the one good thing about this city.</p><p>Twentieth in the <i>Don't Blink</i> series, set between <i>A Feline Casanova</i> and <i>Every Hour Has Come To This.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Glance Feeling On New York Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This one will have at least three parts, but I'm breaking form a bit and posting part one before the story is complete. Quinn and Rachel are both demanding to be heard
> 
> Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta and my fandom soulmate.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

_And I guess we fell apart in the usual way._  
_And the story's got dust on every page,_  
_But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now._  
_And I see your face in every crowd.  
_ _~Holy Ground, Taylor Swift_

_xx_

 

**Part I: First Glance Feeling On New York Time**

 

Spending thirty minutes packed like a sardine in an overcrowded subway train isn't something that she enjoys. It's about twenty degrees hotter inside than it is outside, it smells like sweat and tobacco, and she's pretty sure that the noticeable bulge in the pants of the guy sitting next to her isn't being caused by his cellphone, but she hasn't let her gaze wander back in that direction since she'd accidentally caught that first glimpse.

The wheels clatter against the tracks as the train lurches around a bend, sending her sliding across the seat and nearly into the guy that she really doesn't want to touch in any way, shape, or form. It's on days like today when she remembers exactly why she hates this city. It's been such a long week, and she'd worked through most of her Saturday. Sunday is typically the only day that she gets to relax in the relative peace and quiet of her apartment, and yet here she is, on her way into the heart of Manhattan to battle the crowds for no other reason than her own warped sense of amusement. She's not sure it will be worth the hassle.

By the time the train finally rambles into Bryant Park station, she's ready to emerge from the subterranean hell, and for just a moment, she seriously contemplates walking to her destination just to avoid another stuffy subway ride, but the temperature hasn't quite dropped enough to keep her from turning into a sweaty mess before she makes it to Greenwich Village. Sighing, she grips her messenger bag tightly, tucking it close to her body out of habit as she weaves through the crowd at the platform and makes her way toward the underground passage that will connect her to the 6th Avenue line. Thankfully, most of the passengers who traveled with her from Queens have dispersed in various directions, and the D train is much less crowded.

In less than ten minutes, she's finally—gratefully—climbing the staircase to greet a gorgeous October day that's just cool enough to make the typically stale city air taste fresh on her tongue. She takes a deep breath and a moment to get her bearings as she admires the clean lines of St. Joseph's Church across the street, built one hundred and eighty years ago in the Greek revival style. Honestly, she thinks it looks more like a library than a church, which is slightly amusing to her when she considers that her destination today is actually a library that could easily be mistaken for some old-world cathedral that was dropped into the middle of Manhattan.

She walks the three short blocks uptown, away from Washington Square and into the heart of the village. She can see the red spires of the Jefferson Market Library barely kissing the blue sky, and she can't help but appreciate the Victorian Gothic architecture. That's why she's here after all, in this city in general and specifically on this street on a Sunday morning. This weekend is the annual Open House New York, when a plethora of the city's landmarks open up their doors and let the public inside to see their hidden secrets. When her boss had mentioned it several weeks ago, her interest had been piqued, and she'd found herself browsing through the list of available tours before ultimately deciding that the chance to climb to the top of the clock tower on the historic landmark was too tempting to pass up.

She's been to this library before. She'd walked a slow circle around the impressive exterior before entering to appreciate the detail in the interior design and stained glass windows under the guise of browsing the shelves. She's always loved old buildings. There's a certain grace to them that's so rare to find in modern architecture, which is probably why she's finding herself so drawn to restoration projects. The library speaks to her for that reason too. It was originally a courthouse, renovated and converted in the 1960s after preservationists petitioned to save it rather than see it torn down, and now the clock tower proudly watches over Greenwich Village. She can't wait to stand on its balcony and become a tiny part of its history.

When she turns the corner, she's met with a line of people waiting outside the door. They only allow about fifteen people into the tower at a time, and it's only open for a few hours before the door will once again be locked until next year. She'd thought that she was suitably early, but apparently a good number of residents and tourists had gotten the same idea. All things considered, she supposes it could be worse, and she digs out her phone, briefly glancing at her messages before switching on the camera and snapping a few pictures of the building. She can't even bring herself to care that she looks like a typical tourist.

She studies the stonework, sloping roofs, and gables, not paying much attention to anyone around her, until the man behind her barks out, "Hey, lady, the line's movin'," in the typical charming New York drawl. She frowns in irritation, sparing only the briefest glance over her shoulder before she shuffles forward all of five steps to close the gap between her and the woman in front of her. In a few moments, she reaches the door, and the gentlemen playing sentry waives her inside when he discovers that she's a party of one. Sarah grins in satisfaction when he stops the guy behind her and tells him that he'll have to wait until the next tour.

The space inside the entryway is small, and she bounces on her toes in an attempt to see over the heads of the group in front of her as their tour guide introduces himself and gives them a rundown of his qualifications—twelve years as a senior architect at Gensler and a list of very impressive locations for which he's had a hand in the design. She's sufficiently impressed.

She inches a little closer, finding just the right angle to see one-third of his face as he begins to speak about the building, giving a crash-coarse history lesson on the library and the Venetian inspired clock tower into which they're about to climb. She loses interest in her obstructed view of their tour guide fairly quickly and instead allows her gaze to dance around the walls, floor, and ceiling as she lets his voice inspire thoughts of the original architects designing and building the structure over a century before. She really does love old buildings, and she's so lost in her revelry that she almost doesn't notice when the group begins to move forward toward the one hundred and forty-nine spiral stairs that will lead them into the tower.

She's actually grateful to be the last in line, taking her time to carefully climb the steps and trail her fingers along the walls in admiration without anyone thinking she's a weirdo with a fetish for stone and mortar—even if she kind of is. The climb is purposely slow to limit the risk of vertigo from moving in seemingly endless, upward circles. She's in good shape, so it's an easy effort, but she definitely understands how quickly a person could become disoriented in the narrow staircase. Eventually, they reach the "fire watchers" balcony where the bell once rang to summon the volunteer firemen.

She slides along the interior wall, torn for a moment between listening to their guide expound on the history of the bell—Old Jeff—and slipping out the nearby door onto the actual balcony to take in the view of the village, but spontaneity has never come easily to her, so her feet stay rooted to the floor. She ignores the familiar tickle of regret that comes from letting the moment slip away.

The rest of the group has already spread out a little, a few looking out the windows while others check out the bell or stare at the giant white spider that climbs the outside of the tower every Halloween. She smiles at the little boy hiding behind his father's leg as he warily eyes the Styrofoam monster and leans back against the wall, allowing her own eyes to wander around the room until they catch on a blonde turning her head to whisper to the woman standing next to her. She feels the breath leave her lungs, and in a heartbeat, she's thrown back five years in time to the very first moment that she'd seen that unforgettable profile.

_xx_

"You know, generally, paintings are more enjoyable when you step back and take in the whole picture."

Sarah inhaled sharply at the unexpected interruption of a husky voice just over her shoulder and quickly stepped away from her position—nose practically pressed against the gilded frame in front of her as she'd studied the intricate, arabesque design through squinted eyes. She felt her cheeks heat in muted embarrassment as she turned to apologize, certain that she was about to see one of the gallery staff poised to reprimand her for getting too close to the artwork. Instead, she encountered a gorgeous blonde standing to her left with her hands casually folded behind her back as she studied the portrait.

Sarah's gaze lingered helplessly over a very appealing square jaw and high cheekbones before it started to slip a little further down. The heat of her blush intensified, warming her ears before creeping down her neck to her sternum, and she silently cursed—not for the first time—the way she always seemed to be reduced to a tongue-tied, red-faced mess in the presence of a beautiful woman. Sometimes she really wondered how it had taken her so long to realize that she was gay, but then she supposed that growing up in her small town of Fennville, Michigan, where boys and girls were practically paired off at birth, might have had something to do with her complete lack of self-awareness. It had taken a summer working for her aunt at a bed and breakfast in Saugatuck and an out-and-proud blonde in a bikini who really knew how to kiss to fully introduce Sarah to her sexuality. She'd spent her last year of high school vacillating between panic attacks and a welcome serenity at finally discovering the missing piece of the puzzle that was _her_. Coming to Yale had been a revelation.

It just didn't make her any better with women.

"I…um," she began, nervously clearing her throat. "I was admiring the frame."

The woman's head turned, pinning Sarah with light-brown eyes filled with amusement and leaving her breathless all over again. The woman was gorgeous—like straight-out-of-a-magazine, can't-be-real-must-be-airbrushed _gorgeous_. "It's a very nice frame," she conceded as the traces of a smile flirted around her mouth. "But you're missing out."

The painting paled in comparison to the woman in front of her. Sarah paused a second to make sure she hadn't said that out loud—luckily, it seemed that she hadn't. "It's Stanford White," was what she blurted out instead. She stifled a groan and the urge to press her hand over her eyes.

A musical laugh filled her ears as the woman smiled fully, and Sarah decided that breathing was overrated anyway. "The painting," she stressed, nodding to the moody image on the wall, "is by Thomas Wilmer Dewing. Most people would be admiring that."

Sarah felt her face flush a shade darker. "I'm not most people," she muttered, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she dropped her eyes to the floor.

The woman sighed, and Sarah waited for the rustling of fabric or the clicking of heels to signal her departure, but instead she heard, "He was an architect, wasn't he?" Her eyes darted back up to see a soft smile and raised eyebrow. The blonde tilted her head. "I think a friend of mine mentioned his name when she was giving me a dissertation on the history of Madison Square Garden."

Sarah's own eyebrows rose in surprised pleasure. "He designed the second building," she said slowly, "but it was torn down in 1925."

The woman nodded. "Didn't he get murdered on the roof?" she asked with a wry smile.

Sarah grinned despite the inappropriateness of the action in relation to the subject matter, but she was just so tickled to meet someone outside of her fellow classmates who knew _anything_ about _any_ architect. "That's an unfortunate thing to be remembered for when he designed so many noteworthy structures, like the Washington Square Arch for example."

The blonde's eyes sparked with interest, and Sarah could see that the irises that she'd initially thought were simple brown were actually flecked quite liberally with green. "Really?" she murmured before taking a step closer to the painting to examine the frame more intently.

Sarah studied the graceful line of her body and the curve of her neck, swallowing thickly before she attempted to moisten her lips. "He…he designed the frame specifically for the painting." When the woman glanced back at her, she stuttered out, "He…um…he designed a lot of…of frames…for artists," she added dumbly.

The blonde grinned. "Do you have a thing for frames, or are you just a history buff?"

Sarah wondered if her skin could actually burst into flames from acute embarrassment, but she forced her head to stay up and her eyes to meet the blonde's measured gaze, because there was one thing that _didn't_ embarrass her. "I'm an architecture major."

"Impressive," the blonde commented with a nod. "So I'm guessing you're more interested in the gallery itself than the exhibitions." Her grin bordered on a smirk as she tipped her head toward the painting again. "Except for this frame, of course."

"The painting is nice too," Sarah admitted with a shrug before glancing around the gallery. She couldn't exactly deny that she was more interested in the modernist design with its geometric ceiling and the beautiful combination of concrete, glass, and steel. "But the building is a masterpiece."

The blonde laughed, and the sound resonated so richly and fully that Sarah could feel it flutter inside her chest. She'd never believed in silly things like love at first sight, but she certainly knew the signs of sexual attraction when she felt them. She figured the chances of this woman reciprocating were pretty slim. She just didn't have that kind of luck.

Those glittering eyes, the true color of which she still couldn't quite determine, danced around the gallery before they settled back on Sarah, filled with good humor and crinkled at the corners from the smile that colored every inch of her face. "I have to say, I've never really paid much attention to the place other than thinking that the natural lighting from the windows really complements the artwork. Maybe I've been missing out," she mused in soft tones, taking a single step closer and causing Sarah's throat to go dry all over again. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in enlightening me on what makes this place a masterpiece. I'd hate to remain ignorant."

Sarah couldn't quite decide whether she was being teased or flirted with, and she drew in a shaky breath. "Um…I…I could…if you really want me to. It's probably kind of boring though."

The blonde tilted her head to the right, still smiling with twinkling eyes—they were really kind of greenish now. "I highly doubt I'll be bored. Architecture is just a different form of art, isn't it?"

Sarah grinned in return, practically standing to attention. "Yeah. Yeah, it is," she agreed eagerly, happy to have finally met someone who understood.

"I'm Quinn, by the way," she announced, holding out a hand in invitation. "Quinn Fabray."

Sarah glanced down at the offering, slowly lifting her own hand to slide her palm into Quinn's—sweet lord, even her name was gorgeous. "Sarah Cartwright," she practically whispered as she shook Quinn's hand, feeling a little thrill race through her when Quinn didn't immediately let go.

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah."

The smooth purr of her name falling from Quinn's lips sent a shiver racing down her spine. "Yeah," she practically sighed, reluctantly pulling her fingers away from the silken warmth of Quinn's hand before clearing her throat. "Um…nice to meet you too."

_xx_

The impromptu lesson in the architectural history of the Yale Art Gallery—during which Sarah had rambled endlessly about the Louis Khan Building in addition to the adjacent Old Yale Art Gallery and Street Hall, and Quinn had shown either unparalleled interest or commendable patience—had been followed up by an equally impromptu cup of coffee at the Booktrader Café. They'd spent another two hours discussing history, literature, and their respective majors until the café staff had turned off the lights and kicked them out the door. Sarah hadn't quite figured out that it had been an actual date until Quinn had called and asked her out on a second. Things like that—having a beautiful, intelligent woman seamlessly maneuver her around her own nervousness and into a first date—just never happened to her. She should have known it was too good to be true.

Sarah stifles a frustrated groan and bumps her clenched fist against the wall behind her. She isn't being fair, and she knows it. She'd ultimately been the one to end their near two-year relationship, but only because she could feel Quinn slipping through her fingers, pulled away by this godforsaken city and the very woman standing next to her now.

Rachel fucking Berry.

She wonders if she can slip back down the stairs without being noticed. Damn it, she'd really wanted to stand on the balcony and see the view. She knew she should have just stayed home today. She's still debating what to do when their tour guide claps his hands and suggests that they all head outside. Sarah watches Quinn's gaze come up, and for just a moment, she gets to see that rare, unrestrained smile that she'd always felt so privileged to witness before it freezes on Quinn's face and then melts away into wide-eyed shock.

 _So much for slipping away unnoticed_ , Sarah thinks grudgingly. She forces a crooked smile and lifts her hand in a half-hearted wave.

Quinn visibly inhales, and yeah, the whole scenario is pretty weird, and Rachel is eyeing her disdainfully. Sarah really just wants to flip her off, but she keeps on smiling thinly through gritted teeth. Rachel fucking Berry. Like running into her ex-girlfriend isn't already bad enough without also having to deal with the most annoying of her supposed best friends. She's done a pretty good job of avoiding the both of them since she'd moved to New York five months ago—that's the one good thing about this city—even though she'd once stumbled over Rachel's name and picture as she'd flipped past some pointless pseudo-news in the _Times_ about an equally pointless show on Broadway. She no longer has to pretend to like the self-absorbed woman for Quinn's sake.

Oh, who is she even kidding? She's probably just going to keep faking her smile and make some stilted small talk with both of them before she escapes in the opposite direction from wherever they're heading.

Sarah drops her hand, tucking it into her pocket along with her other one, and takes her own fortifying breath. Quinn looks a little dazed as she walks forward, and Rachel follows behind her with crossed arms and a frown.

"Sarah," Quinn breathes out.

She hates that the sound of her name on Quinn's lips can still make her shiver. "Hi, Quinn," she returns, feeling her smile become a little bit more genuine. She can't help it—Quinn looks good. But then Rachel sidles up next to her, and Sarah is forced to acknowledge her with a jerky nod and a muttered, "Rachel."

She doesn't get a verbal acknowledgment from the woman in return. She doesn't even get a painfully forced smile. It's not really surprising. She'd always suspected that Rachel Berry was only attempting to be nice to her for Quinn's sake, much the same way Sarah had with Rachel. But really—how was she supposed to relate to someone who thought that Andrew Lloyd Webber's contributions to the world were somehow as significant as those of Frank Lloyd Wright? As if a man in a mask screeching a poor imitation of opera could ever compare to the beauty of Fallingwater. Having a conversation with Rachel had been a chore that Sarah had only undertaken for Quinn—and lord, the woman had even burst into song once right in the middle of a coffee shop! Who does that?

Sarah's attention doesn't stay on Rachel for long, not when Quinn is standing right there in front of her again. Her hair is a little bit shorter than Sarah remembers, but she hasn't really changed at all. If anything, the few extra years of maturity have made Quinn even more stunning. It's just not fair.

"It's been awhile," she comments, digging her hands deeper into her pockets to keep them occupied. She remembers all too well what they felt like tracing the curves of Quinn's body in darkened bedrooms as they'd trembled with quiet reverence.

"Yeah," Quinn agrees softly.

"You look good," she says before she can think better of it, even if it is the absolute truth.

Quinn breathes deeply, shaking her head so slightly that Sarah probably wouldn't have noticed it if her eyes weren't busy drinking in every nuance of her face. "What are you doing here?" she asks with a tiny frown.

"Touring the bell tower," Sarah quips evasively, offering a shrug and a grin. She isn't willing to have _that_ conversation right now. "Which…we should probably…you know," she nods toward the balcony and gingerly takes a sidestep in that direction, "see the view before we get kicked out for the next tour."

Quinn's frown deepens, creasing the skin between her eyebrows. "That's not what I…"

"We definitely shouldn't miss the view," Rachel quickly interrupts, brushing a hand over Quinn's biceps. "We can enjoy the fresh air while we catch up." She flashes that too-wide, fake smile that has always made Sarah cringe and takes her own step closer to the balcony, silently urging Quinn to follow. "After all, how often does one get to stand up here?"

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Once a year, I'm told," she mutters, but she can't deny that she's grateful to Rachel for the interruption. She can see the confusion swirling in hazel eyes, chased by wounded anger, and that was never a portent for a pleasant conversation with Quinn.

She follows them out onto the balcony, keeping a reasonable distance as they line up along the iron railing. It would be rude to race over to the other side of the tower, but she's kind of hoping they can just enjoy the rest of the tour in their separate bubbles, maybe make a little small talk about the weather and leave it at that.

"It is a pretty nice view," she muses quietly, not really expecting an answer. It's certainly nothing compared to standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building or at the Top of the Rock, but it's still so much more peaceful up here than being down in the midst of the hustle and bustle.

Quinn sighs, gazing out over the buildings in the Village. "Imagine what it must have looked like a hundred years ago before the city grew up around it."

"Cleaner, I'd wager," Sarah answers with a smile. She pulls her phone from her bag, snapping a few quick pictures before she turns around and peers up at the top of the turret where the clock is located. She wonders if she'll have time to climb the ladder to see the bell. When she finally lowers her phone with the intention of quickly sifting through the pictures to make sure they look okay, she notices Quinn's eyes trained on the side of her face and feels a faint blush work its way across her cheeks.

 _Damn it_.

"You still take a million pictures of buildings," Quinn says with a fond smile.

Sarah shrugs, pocketing her phone again. "It's my passion."

Quinn's smile slips away, and she turns fully with one hand still resting against the railing. "Are you just here for the weekend?"

That dark look is back in Quinn's eyes again, and over her shoulder, she can see Rachel's head bow as she curls her fingers around the rails. Sarah takes a deep breath and swallows, starting slowly. "Actually, my advisor…you remember Professor Easterling?" she asks, knowing that Quinn probably does. Sarah had talked about the woman enough over the course of their relationship.

Quinn nods quickly. "Yeah."

Sarah licks her lips and takes another breath before speaking again. "She recommended me for a position with Skidmore, Owings & Merrill as an architectural assistant."

"In New York?" Quinn questions sharply.

She sighs. "It obviously wasn't my first choice."

"Obviously."

The accusatory tone is unmistakable. Rachel's head snaps up, turning quickly in their direction, and she pushes off the railing and moves to stand just behind Quinn's shoulder with dark eyes narrowed. Sarah shakes her head and glances out over the city, remembering the many discussions that they'd had about New York and her insistence that she was moving back to Michigan as soon as she'd earned her from Yale. That had been her plan. Boy, did ever it go astray.

"I applied to every firm in Grand Rapids," she admits unhappily, "but nothing panned out. I…couldn't afford to turn down the opportunity."

Quinn chuckles bitterly. "Wow, that sounds familiar."

Sarah's eyes flutter closed. She remembers standing in a dorm room in New Haven listening to Quinn tell her the very same thing about the job she'd wanted to take in New York.

"Quinn," she utters softly, at a loss for anything else to say.

"So you're living here now?"

Sarah opens her eyes and meets Quinn's sharp gaze. She's standing with her arms crossed and weight shifted onto her right leg. She wonders if the left one is bothering her from those one hundred and forty-nine steps. She imagines it probably is—maybe her back too. Rachel's eyes are fastened on the concrete floor now, but otherwise her posture mirrors Quinn's almost comically.

"I have a place in Queens," Sarah tells her. "At least until I get through my internship and earn my license. Then I'll probably reevaluate things."

 _Probably definitely_ , she thinks. She's working under some very influential master architects right now, and with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, she can get her license and build a career back in Michigan, closer to her family and her childhood home.

"That'll take a few more years, right?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah, probably," she concedes.

Quinn huffs. "I thought you hated New York."

"I do," she's quick to say. That sure as hell hasn't changed. "But there's a lot of competition for internships, Quinn. Sometimes you have to make compromises to get what you want."

She knows it's a mistake as soon as she says it. Quinn's eyes narrow, and she hisses, "I seem to remember you weren't all that into compromises when we were together."

"Can we not do this here?" Sarah pleads, glancing around nervously to see if any of the other people on the balcony have noticed their increasingly heated discussion. Luckily, it doesn't seem that anyone is paying them much attention right now, and she'd rather keep it that way. She's not one for airing her personal drama in public.

Rachel, silent all this time, finally puffs out a breath and steps closer to Quinn, murmuring her name softly. "This…really isn't the best time or place," she says haltingly, curling her fingers into her own biceps hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Can we just enjoy being up here for awhile?"

Quinn seems to soften a little at this, and her eyes dart guiltily around the balcony. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, mostly to Rachel, but then her eyes are back on Sarah. "I just really didn't expect you to be living in New York. I practically had to drag you with me for even a weekend."

And _that_ typically also involved compensating her with more pleasurable activities. Sarah smiles wryly. "Believe me, I'd rather be _anywhere_ else. But this is the most prestigious internship with decent pay that I could find." She doesn't add that she'd pretty much pinned all her hopes on the Grand Rapids market and when nothing had worked out by her last semester of graduate studies, she'd been fairly desperate for _any_ internship.

"I don't know why you're so disparaging of New York. It's the greatest city in the world," Rachel comments, still appearing more than a little tense and unhappy with her defensive posture.

"It's dirty and noisy and smells like wet dog," she replies, watching Rachel's frown deepen as she lets out an audible huff of annoyance. Sarah bites back a smirk.

"It's got some great buildings though," Quinn says, seemingly calmer now.

"That's the only saving grace," Sarah agrees. There are so many gorgeous, iconic designs from so many prominent architects on practically every block of the city—this one included. She trails her fingers fondly along the railing. "You know, this is where they held the original trial of the century back when it was still a courthouse," she catches Quinn's eye and smiles crookedly, "for the murder of Stanford White."

Quinn's expression softens even more, and her lips curve with fond recollection.

"Oh, I know that name," Rachel interjects, relaxing somewhat. "He was murdered on the roof of the old Madison Square Garden over his dalliance with a chorus girl. You remember, don't you, Quinn?" she prompts, resting a hand on Quinn's shoulder with a slight smile.

"I should have known," Sarah mumbles. The story did involve a chorus girl and a famous entertainment venue after all.

Rachel sends a sharp glare in her direction, dropping her hand. "Pardon me?"

Sarah ignores her, instead asking, "So how are you, Quinn? Are you still working at…HarperCollins, right?"

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod. "I was made associate editor earlier this year." There's nothing boastful about the revelation. It's simply a fact.

"That's great," Sarah tells her, and she means it. She's happy that Quinn's career is going well. It makes their breakup feel a little less pointless.

"She's also finishing her first novel," Rachel adds proudly. "I expect her to be a published author by this time next year."

Quinn's cheeks flush pink. "Rach, that's," she trails off, ducking her head in embarrassment. "It's still a work in process," she informs Sarah.

"It's amazing," Rachel insists.

"It's okay," Quinn corrects with a shrug, and Rachel frowns at her.

Sarah chuckles lightly. She can remember Quinn occasionally killing time on her laptop with her little stories. "So you're still doing the writing thing?"

Quinn's lips purse imperceptibly while Rachel's eyes flash. "It's not a _thing_ ," she defends hotly. "Quinn is extremely talented."

"Rachel," Quinn warns softly.

"Well, yeah," Sarah hedges, not wanting either of them to think that she's trying to insult Quinn, "but…I mean, it's kind of a saturated market, isn't it? And being an editor at a major publishing company isn't something you should throw away for a hobby."

"A _hobby!_ " Rachel echoes incredulously. "Writing is Quinn's _dream_. Her _passion!_ "

"Rachel," Quinn repeats, dropping her hand onto Rachel's upper back and rubbing lightly—an oddly intimate action that Sarah can't miss. "It _is_ still kind of a hobby right now," Quinn concedes.

Rachel huffs and crosses her arms again, looking extremely put out.

Disguising her amusement at Rachel's ruffled feathers is a hopeless cause, and she barks out a laugh despite the scowl on Rachel's face. "Are you moonlighting as her publicist now or something?" she jokes.

"I'm her _girlfriend_ ," Rachel fires back heatedly.

Sarah definitely isn't laughing at that. She's not sure she's even breathing. Quinn's hand is still resting on Rachel's back, and her expression is a mixture of regret and guilt, and Sarah is certain that she didn't mishear Rachel's words or misunderstand their meaning.

"You're together?" she whispers.

There's a distinctive curve to Rachel's lips that hadn't been there before, but at least Quinn has the decency to look apologetic when she softly confirms that they are, in fact, together. It hurts more than it should when their own relationship has been over for years. It's not like she'd expected Quinn to still be single, even if Quinn had been happily single and dating around when Sarah had first met her. She's _over_ Quinn—or she'd thought she was.

No. She _is_.

It's just—

Rachel. Fucking. Berry.

"So much for Rachel not swinging in your direction," she chokes out, a little breathless from the sudden onslaught of memories bombarding her—all those times when she'd been made to feel like a jealous, insecure shrew for supposedly imagining that there was something deeper than merely friendship between Quinn and her so-called _best friend_. But, no, Quinn had assured her that there was nothing there—that whatever confused, teenage attraction she'd had to Rachel was long forgotten and, anyway, Rachel was as straight as an arrow.

It's an awfully crooked fucking arrow.

"God, I knew it, too! I knew she wasn't just some high school crush you'd gotten over."

Quinn has the grace to look ashamed, and her eyes dart away guiltily. "Sarah," she begins, but whatever she wants to say doesn't matter now. Sarah can see the truth right in front of her. She was always Quinn's second choice.

"No, don't," she commands, holding up a hand to stop the flow of empty words that she knows is coming. "You don't have to explain it, Quinn. It's none of my business anymore. I suppose I should tell you that I'm happy for you, but," she shakes her head. At some point, Quinn's hand had dropped down to entwine with Rachel's, and Sarah frowns at the picture of them together. "I think you'll understand why I can't."

"Well, you're still as unpleasant as ever," Rachel complains haughtily.

"And you're still a bitch," Sarah snaps, unable—and unwilling—to censor herself as she crosses her arms defensively. Apparently, she's not quite as adverse to public drama as she'd thought.

Quinn groans at the same time that Rachel opens her big, fat mouth. "You little…"

"Rachel," Quinn growls as she glares at her _girlfriend,_ demanding her attention with a little jerk of their joined hands. "Just…stop."

Rachel huffs again, but she snaps her mouth shut and continues to scowl at Sarah. It's not amusing at all.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says shakily. "I know how this probably looks, but you have to know that what Rachel and I have now…it didn't start until you and I were completely over."

"You know, I think you actually believe that," Sarah drawls slowly.

Blonde brows furrow over narrowed eyes. "It's the truth," she swears, voice crackling with growing irritation.

Sarah sighs. "It's a technicality." Maybe she's still being a little naïve, but she actually does believe that Quinn was faithful to her in the most basic, physical sense. Emotionally, however, is another story entirely.

Quinn's jaw clenches and her eyebrow arches dangerously. It's an expression that Sarah recognizes instantly. They've hit the end of Quinn's patience, and she braces herself for the expected attack. Quinn doesn't disappoint her.

"You're the one who ended things, Sarah," she grits out harshly, dropping Rachel's hand and taking a step forward. "You didn't even want to try to make it work once I told you I wanted to move to New York. Apparently I wasn't worth the compromise, but as soon as it suits you, here you are," she points out, waving her hands around wildly. Rachel flinches away from a near blow to her nose. "So everything you said about us being on different paths and cutting our losses was complete bullshit. I guess now I know where I really stood with you."

It would be so easy to remind Quinn exactly _why_ she'd been so sure that their relationship wouldn't survive in this goddamn city. A pretty big one was standing right next to them. They could trade accusations and blame for hours, but what would that accomplish? She's never been comfortable with confrontation, and Quinn's bitchier side is something that she definitely hasn't missed.

"I guess we both do," she says simply.

Quinn inhales sharply, eyes glistening as she stares at Sarah. Rachel is looking frustrated again; she's probably not appreciating that her girlfriend is getting so worked up over an ex. Sarah can't bring herself to care. She watches Rachel touch Quinn's arm with wounded eyes. "Quinn. Maybe we should just go," she murmurs.

Sarah releases a tired breath. "For once, Rachel and I can agree on something."

Quinn's perfect posture slips, and she drags a hand through her hair. "Sarah," she sighs dolefully, ignoring Rachel and unconsciously moving away from her touch. Rachel wraps her arms around her body dejectedly, staring out over the city with pursed lips.

Sarah jerks her gaze away from them, looking toward the door. "I'm gonna head back down," she announces, reluctantly abandoning her plan to climb that ladder and see the bell up close. She's really not in the mood anymore. "Take care of yourself, Quinn," she adds after a moment of hesitation.

She's already walking away when she hears Quinn plaintively ask her to wait. She only pauses to glance back over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Quinn in her post-bitchy repentance, with glistening eyes and pouting lips that still manage to tug her heartstrings and make her want to forgive everything. She idly wonders if it works as well on Rachel before she shakes her head and smiles sadly. "Good luck with your book," she offers in parting before she turns and heads for the stairs.

It's only as she begins the spiraling descent that she notices her vision blurring, and she slows her pace, brushing at her wet cheeks with trembling fingers. She's over Quinn, she repeats again and again as she measures her steps, not wanting to tumble headfirst down the stairway. She's over Quinn, but maybe she's not over the way they'd ended things. And maybe she's not over the regret of letting Quinn go without a fight. Maybe she's not over her own selfish unwillingness to compromise. And she's definitely not over the revelation that Quinn is now dating the one person who'd always made her feel like the other woman when she should have been feeling like _the one_.

Sarah is dizzy by the time she steps back out onto the sidewalk and into the shadow of the clock tower, and the October air feels just a tiny bit colder. A truck blasts its horn and nearly plows into the bumper of a taxi on the street in front of her, and the smell of burning rubber and exhaust is acrid in her nose. God, she really hates New York.


	2. Skip the Conversation When You Already Know

**Part II: Skip the Conversation When You Already Know**

"You're taking the job?"

Quinn's proud grin dimmed considerably as she regarded her girlfriend's tense posture and registered the hint of accusation that colored her tone. Sarah had been in her arms just moments before, happily accepting the kisses that Quinn had enthusiastically bestowed upon her lips in celebration of her good news. Well, _Quinn_ had been celebrating her good news. Sarah had been completely ambushed in her doorway and tackled in an eager embrace before she'd had the chance to laughingly ask Quinn what had put her in such an amorous mood.

Quinn had been so happy that morning after she'd picked up her phone and listened to the human resources representative from HarperCollins offer her a job with them to begin immediately upon her official graduation from Yale in just two weeks. Apparently, Professor Brantley hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Quinn that she knew some people and could put in a good word for her. Quinn had grabbed on to the opportunity with both hands.

"Yeah, I am," she confirmed.

Sarah took a step back and crossed her arms low across her stomach with one hand cupping her elbow. It was her defensive stance, and what remained of Quinn's smile disappeared entirely. "Just like that?" Sarah asked in a clipped voice. "Without discussing it with me first?"

"No, not just like that, Sarah. I told you when I got the interview that I really wanted the job," she reminded her girlfriend. "It's HarperCollins."

"It's New York," Sarah pointed out needlessly, as if Quinn wasn't perfectly aware of where the company was located. She'd gotten on the train and traveled there two weeks ago, skipping all her classes that day, just for the interview.

"It's not that far," Quinn reasoned, offering an encouraging smile. She erased the little distance that Sarah had placed between them and reached out to rest her palms behind Sarah's elbows, attempting to maneuver their bodies closer. "I can be here with you every weekend," she promised.

Sarah released a pensive breath and shook her head. "But you'll be living _there_."

"It's a two hour commute," Quinn reminded her affably. Yeah, she supposed that she could technically manage that everyday, but it was bound to get old really fast. "You'll have classes all day in the fall, and I'll be at work regardless of what city I'm in. We'll barely see one another through the week anyway." She raised her left hand to gently cup Sarah's cheek. "Just imagine how amazing our weekend reunions will be," she teased wickedly.

The corner of Sarah's lips quirked almost imperceptibly, and her arms fell loose from their protective shield, freeing her hands to wind into the material of Quinn's gray blazer and tug nervously. "Or you could look for a job here. You said that your interview at Lyons Press went well, and it's only twenty minutes away."

Quinn sighed. She couldn't deny that the Guilford based publishing house was on her short list of desirable employers. "But it's only a part-time position as a copyeditor," she reminded Sarah. "HarperCollins is offering me assistant editor, and it's fulltime, Sarah. It even has benefits. It's exactly what I want, and I can't afford to turn down the opportunity."

Sarah tensed in her arms. "In _New York_ ," she repeated.

"It will only take a little bit of time management, that's all. Nothing has to change with us."

"Are you serious?" Sarah challenged incredulously, pulling away from Quinn. "Everything is going to change. You'll be living in New York, meeting new people and spending time with," she stopped, pressing her lips together before she turned away slightly and shook her head again. "With your friends," she finally continued. "And I'll be here every night, wondering what you're doing and waiting for a phone call or a text just to clue me in on what's happening in your life." Her disdain for that possibility was evident in her tone and on her face before she sank down onto her well-worn loveseat with a tired sigh. "Long-distance relationships don't work, Quinn."

"Oh, my God, Sarah!" she growled, throwing her arms out in frustration. "It's eighty miles. That's hardly long distance."

Sarah glanced away, and Quinn roughly jammed her fingers through her hair as she imagined literally tearing it out. How in the hell had her happy news turned into this? She stalked over to the loveseat and sat down heavily, letting her head fall back against the cushions and staring up at the unidentifiable green stain on the ceiling. It had just appeared there in January after Sarah's roommate had let her boyfriend stay the weekend, and neither of them wanted to ask the girl exactly what it was or how it had gotten up there.

Quinn let her eyes flutter shut as she inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of Sarah's fragrant body wash and feeling it calm her a bit. "It will only be for a few years until you finish your degree," she murmured. Sure it would be a little hard for that initial time apart, but Quinn believed that they could manage the small distance and come out stronger on the other side.

"And then what?" Sarah asked quietly.

Quinn's eyes popped open, and she rolled her head to the left to look at her sullen girlfriend. "What do you mean?" she countered.

Sarah's tongue darted out to moisten her lips before she finally turned to meet Quinn's gaze. "I'm not moving to New York," she said matter-of-factly. "You know how I feel about big cities."

Quinn mentally groaned. Sarah was from a town even smaller than Lima, but where Quinn had always felt caged and desperate to get out into the big, wide world, Sarah had loved small-town life and desperately missed the quiet comfort of seeing familiar faces on every street corner. Their differences were never more evident than on the few occasions when Quinn had convinced Sarah to accompany her on one of her frequent visits to New York City. Despite the plethora of art, architecture, and multifaceted cultural experiences, Sarah never seemed to relax in the city and was always eager to be back on the train to New Haven. Quinn, on the other hand, looked forward to her visits and enjoyed every moment she was there, becoming just a bit more reluctant to leave every time. About the only thing that they did absolutely agree upon regarding the city was their shared hatred for New York taxis and the drivers who piloted them like weapons of war.

Quinn straightened her posture, angling her knees toward her girlfriend and reaching over to gently cover her hand where it rested on the cushion. "We don't have to live right in Manhattan," Quinn offered. There were a number of surrounding boroughs in which the constant din of city life dulled considerably, and New Jersey was just across the river. Quinn was more than willing to compromise.

But it seemed that Sarah wasn't, and she inched her hand out from beneath Quinn's touch. "I don't want to live anywhere _near_ the city, Quinn. I'm moving back home after I graduate. You know that."

A trickle of dread crawled down Quinn's spine, and she felt a little breathless when she tried to speak, stuttering, "Yeah, but…I mean, I just figured…things change," she finished lamely. After all, it had been a little while since they'd really spoken about Sarah's plans for after she earned her degree. "You still have grad school. You might feel differently in a few years."

"Will you?" Sarah's eyes glistened suspiciously as she searched Quinn's face for an answer. "I mean…would you consider coming to Michigan with me?"

Every part of Quinn recoiled at the idea of actually choosing to pack up the life she was building on the East Coast and move to the Midwest after she'd already clawed her way out once. She loved Sarah, but, "You know I can't."

Sarah let out a little huff and curled her fingers into her jean-clad thigh. "Why not? Why do _I_ have to be one to change my plans?"

Quinn gritted her teeth and tried not to overreact to the slightly petulant tone. "I can't live in Michigan, Sarah. I have a life here. I have friends."

"Yeah, your _friends_ ," Sarah scoffed. "Just admit that you want to move to New York to be closer to them. To Santana and…and _Rachel_ ," she nearly choked on the name, and Quinn's stomach twisted unpleasantly. She knew that Rachel wasn't Sarah's favorite person—none of her friends in New York really were—but it didn't stop her from hoping that Sarah would try to understand what Rachel—what they _all—_ meant to Quinn.

"I'm not going to deny that it's part of the appeal," she admitted slowly. "But it also means that I'm closer to Beth. You know how important it is to me to try to build a relationship with her. I can't do that from a thousand miles away."

Quinn had screwed up with Shelby Corcoran and her daughter so badly in high school that she'd really believed she would never see either of them again—those brief, tense visits after her accident notwithstanding. When Shelby had contacted her almost three years ago, told her that they were living in New Jersey, and offered her another chance to get to know Beth, Quinn had jumped at the opportunity. And then she'd spent almost two days crying and nearly having an emotional breakdown until she'd finally pulled herself together enough to call Rachel for reassurance that she was making the right decision and wouldn't end up ruining her daughter's life with her very presence. She couldn't— _wouldn't_ —walk away from Beth now.

Sarah looked immediately chastised. "I…I'm sorry," she said with an audible tremor in her voice as she dropped her eyes to the floor. "I…I guess I wasn't thinking about that."

Quinn shifted closer until their legs bumped together. "We can make this work, Sarah," she urged, reaching out to brush the hair away from her cheek before molding her palm to the warm, silky skin. "I want to make this work," she repeated softly.

Sarah's eyes glistened as she lifted her own hand, tracing the skin of Quinn's wrist before gently pulling it away from her face. She loosely tucked her fingers inside Quinn's hand and held it in her lap, shaking her head. "I don't think we can," she said mournfully.

The words tore through Quinn, burning her ears and scratching down the back of her neck to sting her heart and twist in her stomach. She gripped Sarah's hand more tightly and barely managed to strangle the gasp of dismay before it passed her lips. She could feel the panic rising inside of her—she'd come over to celebrate a new job with her girlfriend and suddenly they were on the verge of breaking up. She refused to allow one more good thing in her life to fall apart so spectacularly in the space of ten minutes, so she took a deep breath and focused on staying calm while she mentally composed an argument to persuade Sarah out of whatever insane notion she'd gotten into her head.

"Of course we can," Quinn insisted dismissively. "I love you."

Sarah smiled sadly. "I love you too, Quinn. And maybe we'd be happy for another year or two, but then we'd be right back here, with me wanting to go home to Michigan and you wanting to stay in New York. Only it will be so much worse for both of us."

"You don't know that," Quinn argued roughly.

"You just said that you can't leave the East Coast as long as your daughter is here," Sarah reminded her evenly. "And I get it, Quinn, I do. I know she's important to you," she conceded reluctantly, dropping her eyes to their joined hands where Quinn was still clinging to her desperately. She paused, taking a shaky breath. "But that means that I'd have to be the one to compromise what I want for your sake, and if I do that," she trailed off unsteadily, lifting her tearful gaze. "I don't want to end up resenting you for it."

Sarah might as well have slapped her, and Quinn jerked her hand away, digging her nails into her palm. Her eyes burned with tears as she attempted to swallow around the lump in her throat. "So what are you saying?" she rasped. "You...you won't even try to work this out?"

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head jerkily. "I just think we're on different paths," she nearly whispered. "I've always known that on some level, but I guess I was hoping that I could change your mind." A humorless chuckled escaped her as she ran her fingertips under her eyes and across her cheeks to chase away the moisture. "And apparently you've been hoping that I would change mine."

"You still might," Quinn insisted helplessly. They were arguing in circles at this point, but she couldn't give up. How could Sarah be so damned certain that their relationship wouldn't work in the long run? Didn't she have any faith in them? Did she not love Quinn enough to even bother trying?

"I think I know myself pretty well, Quinn."

"So you're breaking up with me?" Quinn snapped, brushing angrily at her own tears. "Because of a _job_?"

Sarah shook her head again, running her hands through her hair in frustration. "It's not the job. There's a fundamental difference in where we see ourselves five years from now," she pointed out regretfully. "I just don't see a way around that. I think it's better to...to end it now," she stuttered, twisting her fingers in her lap and looking away, "before we end up really hurting each other."

"You're hurting me now!" Quinn exploded, pushing herself up from the loveseat and pacing away. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch the wall. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg Sarah not to leave her just like everyone else had.

She heard Sarah choke out a watery, "I'm sorry," before Quinn finally spun around and glared at her girlfriend. Sarah's head was bowed, and her hands were still fidgeting nervously in her lap. She looked like a guilty child. For a few heartbeats, Quinn actually considered telling Sarah that she wouldn't take the job—that she'd find one closer—but that wouldn't solve the bigger issue. Quinn couldn't see a future in Michigan, and Sarah couldn't see a future with Quinn anywhere else. Once again, she wasn't enough. She was just some shiny trophy that could be easily cast aside when she didn't live up to someone's expectations.

"This...this isn't coming out of nowhere, is it?" Quinn asked brokenly, crossing her arms over her stomach in a poor defense. "You've been thinking about this for a while," she realized as she recalled the increasing distance that she'd been sensing between them.

"Since you told me you had interviews in New York," Sarah confirmed.

Quinn dragged in a harsh breath. "I can't believe you're doing this to us."

Sarah rubbed trembling fingers across her forehead before she finally glanced up at Quinn with an anguished expression. "I'm so sorry," she whispered again.

Quinn shook her head stubbornly, letting her tears fall over her cheeks unchecked. "I...I don't want this to be over," she said on a sob.

Sarah stood and hesitantly stepped closer, lifting her hands to cup Quinn's face. "I love you, Quinn. I do," she swore, softly brushing away a tear with her thumb. "I just don't think this is going to work anymore." Quinn flinched away from her touch, and Sarah sighed. "Not when you keep choosing everything and everyone else over me."

Quinn scoffed. "I'm not choosing _anyone_ else," she fired back, insulted. "I'm trying to start my career. I don't understand why you're forcing us into a hypothetical decision that we don't have to make for another three years at least," she accused.

"Because nothing is going to change in those three years," Sarah explained calmly. "You're just going to have even more reasons to not choose me." Her gaze darted away as she said it, and Quinn felt her stomach flip over again.

"Sarah, please," she begged, blindly grasping for her hand.

"I have to go," Sarah announced, evading Quinn's touch. "I have a class that I really can't miss," she explained as she turned away, reaching for her bag on the desk and roughly shoving a book inside. "We...we can talk more later if you need to, but it isn't going change anything."

Quinn followed after her. "Please don't go," she urged as she placed her hands on Sarah's shoulders, stubbornly turning her around until she had no choice but to face her. The wetness on her cheeks reflected Quinn's own.

Sarah wiped at her tears as her eyes lovingly traced Quinn's face, and then she leaned closer, lightly cupping Quinn's cheek as she brushed their lips together in a soft, bittersweet kiss that tasted too much like goodbye. "I have to go," she whispered when they parted, pulling herself away from Quinn's touch and stumbling toward the door.

"Sarah, wait," Quinn pleaded, feeling her heart splinter more with every step that Sarah took away from her.

Sarah paused in the doorway, briefly glancing back over her shoulder to murmur a sorrowful, "Goodbye, Quinn," before she disappeared down the hallway, leaving Quinn to stare after her through a curtain of tears.

_xx_

Quinn has far too many memories of people walking away from her. She doesn't want the one that's in her head right now or any of the chaotic emotions that come with it, but seeing Sarah again had unexpectedly thrown her back into that moment when the nice, stable life that she'd worked so hard to build for herself had been crumbling around her with no way to repair the damage. She'd hated that feeling then, and she hates it now—and she hates herself for so easily falling back into the perfect storm of insecurity, resentment, and guilt that is permanently attached to the end of her relationship with Sarah Cartwright.

That feeling of not being good enough—not worthy of unconditional love—has plagued her since her childhood, growing stronger and more nefarious with every person who'd abandoned her and proven her fears valid. Only Rachel has ever challenged that particular demon and won.

 _Rachel_.

Quinn turns around to see her huddled close to the railing with her arms crossed and a distant expression on her face as she stares out over the cityscape. The storm inside of Quinn instantly dissipates, calming except for the one unavoidable cloud that still hovers in the air all around them.

It's the guilt that darkens her conscious now.

"Rachel, sweetheart," she begins softly, reaching out to gently brush the windswept hair back from her face, but Rachel shies away from her touch.

"No. Don't _sweetheart_ me," Rachel grits out with flashing eyes. "Not right now."

Quinn's stomach twists, and she catches the corner of her lower lip with her teeth as she faces the mixture of hurt and anger glittering in Rachel's eyes. "I'm sorry," she says sincerely. She feels terrible about what just happened. Today was supposed to be a nice, relaxing outing for them, but Sarah's appearance had sucked the joy right out of it.

Rachel silently stares at her for a long moment before she finally glances away. "Our time is up," she announces flatly, pushing off the railing and walking away from Quinn without another word.

A shiver of apprehension races down Quinn's spine until she realizes that their guide is rounding everyone up and ushering them toward the staircase to make way for the next tour. She hurries after Rachel, but her girlfriend slips down the stairs in front of another couple, leaving Quinn to follow behind them with a frown. Rachel never glances back during their descent of the first staircase, and Quinn's guilt and concern begin to war with annoyance. She knows that Rachel is upset, but Quinn has already apologized. It's not as if she'd invited Sarah to crash their date!

When they reach the first landing, Rachel finally hesitates, looking back with a pensive expression as she lets the couple behind her pass her on their way to the next staircase. Rachel's eyes quickly dart up and down Quinn's body. "How's your leg?" she asks out of habit, though the tone of her voice is leeched of its usual warmth.

"It's fine, Rachel," Quinn responds wearily. "So is my back," she adds before Rachel can voice her usual follow-up question. She's feeling a few twinges here and there, and her left leg is starting to protest every step which means that she'll be noticeably limping soon, but she's used to it by now. It's nothing to worry about.

Rachel nods once—a short, fast jerk of her head—before she turns and continues down. This time Quinn is right behind her, and Rachel glances back over her shoulder a few times to check on her progress. The small, familiar habit goes a long way toward easing the tension inside of Quinn.

By the time they reach the bottom, Quinn is convinced that Rachel only needed a little extra time to cool down after the uncomfortable encounter—to forgive Quinn's unfortunate temper tantrum with Sarah and realize that she has no reason to be jealous—and they'll be able to salvage the rest of day. But when they step onto the sidewalk and Quinn begins to turn south toward Washington Square Park and the West 4th Street station, Rachel turns the other way. Quinn's steps falter, and she nearly stumbles over her own feet to keep up with her girlfriend.

"Rachel, where are you going?" she asks, matching Rachel's pace. "The subway is in the other direction."

"I'm getting us a taxi," Rachel announces, keeping an eye out for vacant sign atop one of the bright, yellow cabs speeding by them.

"We don't need one," Quinn argues.

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel scoffs, dragging her gaze away from the passing traffic to look Quinn over with narrowed eyes. "You just walked 149 steps twice. We're taking a taxi back home."

Two things become very clear to Quinn in that moment: Rachel has not, in fact, cooled down yet, and they would not be going anywhere else today except back to their apartment. Quinn licks her lips anxiously before nearly whining, "But I thought we could have an early lunch at Gobo before heading back." One hundred forty-nine steps in two directions do tend to work up an appetite, and she knows how much Rachel likes Gobo.

"I'm not hungry," Rachel tells her before stepping off the curb with her arm raised and waving down a taxi that looks like it's aimed directly at her.

Quinn's entire body clenches, and she grabs Rachel's other arm and drags her back onto the sidewalk. She absolutely hates it when Rachel flags down taxis that way. "Do you want to get run over?" she snaps, even as the car jerks to a hard stop in front of them.

Rachel shakes off her hand. "At least I saw that one coming," she mutters.

Quinn watches with hurt confusion as Rachel opens the door and slides into the backseat, standing on the sidewalk for a moment longer before she unenthusiastically gets into the car. Rachel gives the driver their address before Quinn even has time to close the door, and she barely manages to get it shut and herself situated before the driver steps hard on the gas and merges into traffic to the sound of blaring horns. She really despises New York City taxi drivers, and she digs her fingers into the door handle, mentally counting down the blocks back to their apartment in Murray Hill.

She glances over to see Rachel staring out her window. Her left hand is pressed against the leather seat, and Quinn slides her right across the short space between them until their fingers brush. A scorpion sting would hurt less than the instant retreat of Rachel's hand into her lap. Quinn swallows heavily. "I really am sorry, Rach," she apologizes again, watching Rachel's ghostly reflection in the glass for any reaction. "I never expected to see Sarah there today."

Rachel's posture stiffens. "Yes, I believe you already made that quite evident," she says, still refusing to look away from the window.

Quinn sighs, curling her fingers into her palm and tapping her fist against the seat. "Look, I know that was," _fucking awkward as hell_ , she thinks sourly, but settles on, "uncomfortable for you…for all of us," she adds.

Rachel finally jerks her gaze back to Quinn with her mouth agape. " _All_ of us!" she repeats incredulously. "You…you just…you're so," she stutters, cutting her hand in tiny circles through the air before she shakes her head and releases something suspiciously close to a growl. "I don't even want to talk to you right now," she bites out, crossing her arms and turning her head back toward the passing scenery.

Quinn's patience frays, and she clenches her jaw as she glares at her girlfriend's stubborn profile. Today just sucks all the way around. "I said I was sorry, Rachel. How many times do you want me to apologize?" she asks sharply. She doesn't get a reply—not even a huff or flip of her hair or a disapproving click of her tongue.

Quinn sighs again and decides to try a different tactic, sliding closer on the seat and lightly tracing her fingertips along Rachel's thigh. "Rach. Sweetie," she purrs enticingly.

Rachel's muscles tense beneath her touch, and she tugs her arm free of their unreceptive knot to brush away Quinn's fingers. "Don't," she warns.

Quinn sits back with a frown, feeling the rejection all the way to her toes. "I can't help it that Sarah is living in New York," she defends, shaking her head in frustration. "I thought she'd be somewhere in Michigan by now."

"Will you please stop talking about her?" Rachel pleads quietly, closing her eyes.

Quinn ignores the request, letting her annoyance take control of her tongue. "You know, it's not like we never run into your exes," she reminds Rachel. "We practically trip over Peter every time we go out." They'd even run into him once on Valentine's Day! Talk about a mood killer.

Rachel scowls at her. "Are you seriously comparing the situations?"

"They're the same," Quinn insists.

"They absolutely are not," Rachel argues heatedly. "For one thing, you actually _like_ Peter now."

"I really don't," Quinn denies.

"The last time we ran into him, you spent forty minutes discussing the genius of _Much Ado About Nothing_ ," Rachel reminds her haughtily.

The tips of Quinn's ears burn, and she glances away. "He was doing Shakespeare in the Park, and it's a good play," she mumbles in embarrassment. She'll be damned if she'll ever actually admit out loud that she really doesn't mind Peter Kendrick so much now that _she_ gets to take Rachel home. She doesn't understand why Rachel wouldn't feel the same way about Sarah.

"You're completely missing the point," Rachel accuses shrilly.

"Then by all means, enlighten me," Quinn demands angrily. "Because I've already apologized repeatedly for creating that scene with Sarah, and I honestly don't know what the hell else you expect from me right now."

Rachel goes rigid in her seat, and her eyes fill with pain. She abruptly turns away from Quinn and leans forward. "Driver, stop here," she commands firmly.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asks in confusion as the car lurches toward the curb and jolts to a stop amidst another symphony of angry horns. "Rachel, we're two blocks from home."

Rachel yanks the door handle and flings it open. "I'm walking."

"Wait a minute," Quinn calls out in a rising panic, hastily reaching into her bag to grab enough money to cover the fare. "I'm coming with you."

Rachel pauses at Quinn's announcement, spinning around hastily and leaning in through the open door. "If you put one foot outside of this car, Quinn Fabray, you'll be sleeping in the spare room with Oliver for the next year," she warns harshly.

The way she says it—the look in her eyes, even as they glisten with tears—stops Quinn cold. "You can't storm out of a taxi, Rachel," she cries desperately.

"Watch me," Rachel fires back with a huff, slamming the door in Quinn's face.

The tears come instantly, and Quinn struggles to take a breath. She's frozen to the seat with one hand fisted around a handful of cash as she watches Rachel practically run down the sidewalk.

 _Away from her_.

"Lady, are you staying or going?" the driver asks impatiently. "I'm in traffic here."

Quinn bites into her lip to keep from sobbing and shoves the money at him. "Keep it," she manages to choke before she slaps at the door handle until her fingers are finally able to function properly and release her from the damned taxi.

She stumbles onto the sidewalk and starts after Rachel, but after the first few steps, her legs won't seem to cooperate, and she staggers out of the foot traffic and leans against the nearest solid object, which happens to be a lamppost. She inhales deeply, dragging the dirty, city air into her lungs and rubbing a palm over her eyes as she battles for composure. She can do this. She used to do it all the time—pretend that everything is perfect to the outside world while inside she's dying. It's like riding a bicycle; you never forget how. You might be a little shaky at first and need a minute to find your balance again, but you never forget how to peddle. She just has to stay upright long enough to get herself home.

And not think about the fact that Rachel just walked away from her. Rachel left her sitting in a taxi and walked away—in the opposite direction of their apartment. Quinn whimpers quietly and angrily rubs her eyes to clear away her tears. God damn it! How had she managed to fuck up today so fantastically?

Feeling a little sturdier on her feet, Quinn pushes off the post and continues walking down the sidewalk toward their building. Every step sends a dull ache up her leg and into her back. If Rachel were here right now, she'd be yelling at Quinn for being an idiot and getting out of the damned car. But Quinn can't think about Rachel right now, not until she's safely inside of their apartment where she can break down in private until Rachel comes home and they can talk this out.

Her steps falter slightly, and she presses a hand to her stomach in a feeble attempt to quell the nausea that's suddenly churning there. Rachel _will_ come home. She has to. Quinn's stupid, self-involved overreaction to Sarah can't really be significant enough to drive a permanent wedge into her relationship with Rachel.

Can it?

She begins to play back the encounter with Sarah, searching for the moment that Rachel can't seem to forgive. Granted, she'd tried to steer Quinn away from the drama to begin with. After all, it had been Rachel's shoulder that she'd cried all over when Sarah had broken up with her because being with Quinn wasn't worth disturbing her own plans. Of course, now Quinn knows that wasn't the only reason. Sarah had made it perfectly clear that she also hadn't trusted Quinn's ability to be faithful to her. And God, maybe she'd been right about that. Quinn had never really chosen Sarah first—she'd once blown off a banquet for Sarah's architectural society in order to come see Rachel's opening night of a limited run, no-name show Off Broadway. Her heart has been choosing Rachel for so long, sometimes against her own better judgment. Rachel can't possibly doubt how Quinn feels about her now, can she? Not after everything they've been through.

Is it that Quinn didn't listen to her and avoid the public confrontation entirely? Or maybe she's upset that Quinn had tried to stop her from talking up her novel too much. She's certainly not embarrassed by her writing, and she loves how deeply Rachel believes in her, but she knows that Sarah has never understood that particular passion. Quinn just hadn't wanted the conversation to turn into—well, what it turned into. And God, that's it, isn't it? Quinn hadn't respected Rachel's initial attempts to keep the encounter from escalating, and then she'd turned around and practically scolded her for getting into an argument with Sarah. But what was she supposed to do? Stand back and let them get into a catfight?

God, she's so fucking stupid! She should have just made banal small talk with Sarah and been on her way. How could she have acted that way in front of Rachel? She means _everything_ to Quinn.

Quinn's hands are trembling when she reaches for her keys and attempts to unlock the door to their apartment. She's half hoping that Rachel will be here, somehow beating Quinn home despite the physical impossibility of it, but the lights are still off and the silence is deafening. She shuffles inside, closing the door behind her with an audible click and digging her phone from her jacket pocket. She immediately checks for any messages from Rachel, disappointed when she only sees a text from Santana about some Halloween party at the end of the month. Quinn squeezes the phone until she thinks it might crack and drags her body over to the sofa where she collapses into the cushions with a sob.

There are reminders of Rachel sprinkled everywhere her eyes touch. Her sweater is rolled into a ball and abandoned on the chair. _Back Stage_ magazine is open on the coffee table, one corner held down by Rachel's gold star decorated coffee mug. Her newest Drama Desk statuette—awarded earlier this year to the entire cast of _Crazy for You_ for outstanding ensemble—is proudly displayed on the mantle.

Quinn drops her head into her hands, pressing the phone she still holds into her temple, and lets the tears come in earnest, only vaguely aware of Oliver's chirping mewls as he jumps up beside her and butts his head into her side, insistently burrowing his way under her arms and onto her lap. Quinn sobs harder and drops a wet hand onto his back, taking some small comfort from the familiar softness of his fur. Even he's a reminder of Rachel. "I screwed up, Ollie," she rasps. He only looks up at her with narrowed green eyes, probably wondering why Rachel didn't come back home with her.

Quinn sniffles and wipes her eyes again before she dials Rachel's number. It goes to voicemail—she wasn't really expecting anything else, even though she was hoping. "Rachel," she murmurs into the phone. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you today with...with Sarah. Can you please forgive me?" she begs tearfully. "When you get this, could you…just call me back and…and let me know you're okay? Please," she says again, closing her gritty eyes. "I love you so much, Rach. Please come home soon."

She disconnects the call and stares at the phone for five minutes as it mocks her with its silence before she sends a text with another apology and another request to: _ **Please let me know you're okay.**_

She nearly cries with relief when her phone finally buzzes.

_**I'm okay. I need to clear my head. Don't worry.** _

Quinn presses the phone to her chest, holding it against the ache that's settled there. There was no forgiveness in Rachel's response, no love, no promise to be home soon. How can she do anything _but_ worry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story has grown into at least three parts, so stay tuned for the next installment.


	3. Had This Big Wide City All To Ourselves

**Part III: Had This Big Wide City All To Ourselves**

She doesn't know where she's going. Her feet are moving, and she can feel the shock of the pavement against her heels with every step, but there's a disconnect between her body and mind that she doesn't particularly care to examine at the moment. People move in and out of her vision behind a blurry curtain. A woman in a brown leather jacket listens to an iPod, a guy with purple hair flicks a cigarette between his fingers, a man in a polo shirt talks on his cellphone, a frazzled mother with a bag of groceries in one hand juggles a toddler on her hip, and a couple stands close with hands linked and lips brushing lips. Alone in a crowd has never felt quite so apropos.

Only this morning, her hand had been tucked warmly inside Quinn's as they'd faced the day together. If Rachel had known what was waiting for them in the Village, she'd have stayed in bed and kept Quinn there with her.

A fresh wave of tears builds in her eyes as she picks up her pace in an impossible attempt to outrun her emotions. She just can't believe that Quinn— _her_ Quinn, who has loved and supported her for years—could be so completely insensitive to her feelings. And so incredibly clueless to boot! Rachel had been forced to stand there, gritting her teeth, while she'd watched the woman she loves ignore her completely in order to fall all over that pretentious, little, pseudo-intellectual goody-two-shoes!

Sarah freaking Cartwright!

Rachel growls, slamming her clenched fists into her thighs—and _damn it_ , that hurts! She rubs irritably at the bruised flesh as she staggers to a stop, finally gazing around to fully appraise her location. Somehow, she's ended up on East 42nd Street, staring at Grand Central Terminal. She discreetly wipes away her tears as she moves forward at a less manic pace, helplessly recalling those college years when she'd race to meet Quinn's train or catch one of her own to New Haven. Of course, half the time, Quinn had taken a bus instead of the train to save a little money, but Rachel never had. She'd always found the train to be so much more romantic. Back then, she'd never once questioned why that particular point had even mattered on her visits with Quinn.

The afternoon sun is directly over the city now, and the heat from the concrete and asphalt is palpable despite the mildness of the season. Rachel is about three minutes from turning into a disgusting, sweaty mess. _Sarah_ probably never breaks a sweat. She'd looked as fresh as a Michigan apple blossom after climbing 149 steps, right down to her stupid, perfect hair that even looked good blowing in the wind. No wonder Quinn had fallen for her. She was pretty and wholesome in a way that Rachel could never hope to be, not even in the days when she'd still worn animal sweaters and argyle and planned to wait until she was twenty-five to lose her virginity.

The only thing really _wrong_ with Sarah Cartwright—other than her perverse aversion to popular music and all things Broadway—is that she hadn't been willing to claw the very stars out of the sky just to be anywhere Quinn is. But now she's in New York, and Rachel can't quiet the part of her brain that remembers how much Quinn had once wanted her here and worries that maybe she still does; that maybe she isn't quite as happy with Rachel as Rachel has been imagining.

That's what's really tearing her to pieces right now. She knows why Quinn reacted to Sarah's presence in the city the way she did. Rachel has been a part of Quinn's life long enough to understand exactly what it's done to her every time someone she'd loved and trusted, who was supposed to love and accept her unconditionally, had broken her heart. Her parents had thrown her out of their house when she'd most needed them, Finn had repeatedly chosen Rachel over her, Noah had been too busy sleeping with other girls to take care of her and their unborn child, that bitch Kylie had left her the moment the novelty of being her first girlfriend had worn off, and Sarah had refused to even consider a perfectly manageable commute to the greatest city in the world to keep Quinn in her life.

Rachel understands Quinn's resentment—old insecurities rearing their ugly head and taking control of her tongue. She's done the same thing from time to time, and she'll probably do so again in the future. She can forgive that despite the discomfort it had caused her. What she can't understand is why Quinn hadn't proudly taken her hand and told Sarah that they were together, blissfully in love and insanely happy, and that Sarah breaking up with her was the best thing that could have happened to her. Instead, she'd acted like being with Rachel was some tawdry secret that needed to be hidden away in shame and apologized for. Now all of Rachel's insecurities are roaring to life and ripping her heart to pieces.

What if Quinn has finally realized that life with Rachel isn't what she'd once dreamed it would be? Maybe she misses being with someone like Sarah—someone prettier and more intellectual and less demanding. Every head turns when Quinn enters a room, and she could have anyone she wants. Rachel has never quite lost the sense of wonder that Quinn wants _her_. She doesn't know what she'll do if she finds out that Quinn suddenly wants someone else; that she wants _Sarah_.

Her phone comes alive with the Broadway version of Abba's "Lay All Your Love On Me"—only recently reset to something more to her own tastes after Quinn had (once again) hijacked her ring tone with Pink's "True Love." She glances down to see Quinn's beloved face staring back at her and whimpers softly when the lyrics plead, _"don't go sharing your devotion_. _"_ Her finger hovers above the screen but doesn't move to accept the call. She steps out of the path of travelers and tourists buzzing around Grand Central and lingers near the outer wall, waiting for the phone to go silent and gathering her composure before she finally decides to check the message.

Quinn's watery voice fills her ear, thick with sorrow and worry. Rachel can so clearly picture hazel eyes that shine with emotion and lips pulled into a tremulous pout. She's always been powerless to resist a vulnerable Quinn Fabray, and when she hears Quinn's fervent _I love you so much_ finally accompany the mournful apology, the knot of apprehension that's been tightening inside of her all morning unravels enough to let her breathe again.

The phone in her hand buzzes as soon as she disconnects from the voicemail, and the follow-up text makes her stomach coil unpleasantly. She'd left Quinn in a taxi without a backwards glance or any indication of where she was going, and her girlfriend is probably panicking and thinking up worst-case scenarios right about now. Rachel fires off a message telling her not to worry and that she'll be home later, hoping it's enough to reassure Quinn that she's physically fine and not planning to disappear from her life without a trace. She puts her phone on silent and leans heavily against the wall, trying to banish the ghost of Sarah Cartwright from her thoughts.

xx

She'd been on the first train to New Haven as soon as she'd hung up with Quinn. Her heart had broken for her best friend when she'd tearfully told Rachel about the end of her relationship, asking, "Is…is there something wrong with me, Rach?" in a small, broken voice. "Am I really so unlovable that everyone keeps leaving me?"

Rachel had felt sick at the words, and she'd been quick to counter with an impassioned, "Don't you ever think that, Quinn Fabray. You are the most amazing, beautiful woman that I've ever had the extreme pleasure of knowing, and you deserve every good thing in the world." The disbelieving sob on the other end of the line made Rachel want to pommel Sarah Cartwright—or drop her off one of those archaic buildings of which she was so fond, preferably a very tall one. "You're perfect," she vowed softly, cradling her phone in her hand and wishing that she'd been able to comfort Quinn in person.

So she'd decided to do just that.

Quinn hadn't expected her to skip out on her obligations in New York—Rachel had only just started in the ensemble of _Wicked_ , but really, it was _only_ the ensemble—and show up on a Friday afternoon, and the surprise had been evident on Quinn's face when she'd opened her door to find Rachel standing there. She'd taken one look at her and pulled her into a grateful hug, instantly sobbing into her shoulder. Rachel had held her tightly and let her cry, glad to be there for her in the same way that Quinn had been there for Rachel on more than one occasion.

Quinn's roommates had offered fond _hellos_ and whispered g _lad-you-cames_ before leaving them to sit side-by-side on Quinn's bed while she'd talked and ranted and cried until her voice was rough. Rachel had done her damnedest to distract Quinn with happier thoughts while she'd seethed internally because Quinn had been hurt again. She'd never really believed that Sarah was right for Quinn, but she'd tramped down her own feelings about that woman and focused on what Quinn needed—even if what Quinn really needed was to forget that Sarah existed and find someone who actually deserved her.

"I just keep hoping that she'll change her mind," Quinn confessed quietly as she'd dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "That she'll realize she loves me too much to let it end like this."

Rachel cringed imperceptibly, but she still dropped a comforting hand over Quinn's where it rested limply on her thigh. Their legs were straight on the mattress, lightly touching, as were their shoulders, as they reclined against the headboard. The pillows had been thrown onto the floor, and _The First Wives Club_ was playing softly on the small television in her bedroom, though they weren't really watching it. Rachel couldn't help comparing their current positions to that day three years ago when Quinn had sat beside her and comforted her over the end of her engagement to Finn. If Rachel could get over something like that when she'd once been so certain that she would spend her whole life with him, then Quinn would surely be able to move on from Sarah once the initial hurt faded.

"Would...would you take her back?" Rachel asked carefully, hoping the answer would be _no_ and that Quinn would realize that she could find a woman much better suited to her and her life plan—preferably one who could appreciate the genius of Irving Berlin and Stephen Sondheim, and don't even get her started on Barbra!

"I love her," Quinn whispered simply.

Rachel frowned. "So that's a _yes_?" she verified.

Quinn gave her a look—that one Rachel used to get a lot back in high school that screamed a _re you for real?_ only tinted red and glistening with the remnants of tears. "We were together for two years, Rachel," and Rachel silently corrected her to twenty months, give or take a week or two. Somehow, she didn't feel that Quinn would appreciate the distinction, especially when Quinn glanced away with her lip trembling once again. "I'm not ready to lose her over something as stupid as a job in New York."

Rachel's heart began to race, and she worked her fingers into Quinn's palm, holding her hand. "But you're not giving up the job, right? You're still moving to New York," she urged, more statement than question. She had already made some very definitive plans for a welcome to the city party, not to mention a full schedule of getting her settled and on her way to being a full-fledged New Yorker. Quinn changing her mind and staying in New Haven was not a workable option.

Quinn sighed, rubbing at her forehead tiredly. "It doesn't seem to matter at this point anyway," she muttered. "I should just accept that I'll never get to be completely happy. I'll always have to settle for the next best thing."

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand tightly. "That's not true," she admonished. "You're absolutely going to get everything you want in life one day, Quinn, and be blissfully happy doing it."

Quinn looked at her with an unreadable expression before she shook her head chuckled bitterly. "Not anytime soon."

Rachel didn't know what to say to that. She wanted more than anything to fix this for Quinn—to make her stop hurting and see her smile again. "You'll get there," she promised feebly.

Quinn shrugged and offered up a sad smile—nowhere near the kind of smile that Rachel wanted to see. "Thanks for being here, Rach," Quinn murmured, dropping her eyes to the mattress.

"Where else would I be?" Rachel asked rhetorically, offering a smile of her own. Quinn looked exhausted, and yet she still somehow managed to be beautiful even in her disarray. Rachel let go of Quinn's hand only to reach up and tuck a section of tangled blonde hair behind her ear. "Why don't you go wash those tears away while I get us something to eat?" she prodded.

"You don't have to do that," Quinn told her quickly.

"I want to," Rachel insisted, patting Quinn's thigh reassuringly.

Quinn licked her lips and guiltily dropped her gaze. "We really don't have much in the apartment," she admitted. "It's so close to graduation that we all kind of decided to make do with takeout so we don't have to waste the money on unnecessary groceries or clean out the fridge at the same time we're trying to pack."

Rachel shook her head at their poor nutritional habits and—well, laziness! "I can run out and get us something." In fact, that was what she'd been planning anyway. Even when Quinn and her roommates did keep their apartment adequately stocked, they did not strictly prescribe to a vegan lifestyle. Quinn usually made a special grocery run just for Rachel's visits, but she hadn't been expecting this one.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asked cautiously. Rachel could see that the idea appealed to Quinn but that she didn't want to take advantage when Rachel was technically her guest.

"Absolutely," Rachel assured her, shuffling her body to the edge of the bed and immediately missing the coziness of their previous position. "I've developed an acute craving for that vegan Reuben wrap from that coffee shop you took me to a few months ago."

The corner of Quinn's mouth quirked up into a tiny grin. "Blue State Coffee," she supplied. "Do you remember how to get there?"

Rachel playfully huffed with exaggerated outrage as she bounced off of the mattress and stood. "I'll have you know that I've become quite adept at finding my way around your little town, Quinn." Her mock ire managed to pull a genuine laugh out of Quinn.

"Well, if you really think you can manage," Quinn began with a lingering smile, rolling her eyes when Rachel dramatically squeaked with indignation. "Could you get me the…"

"Bacon barbeque chicken wrap," Rachel hastily cut her off with a smirk, willing to overlook Quinn's persistent consumption of poor, defenseless animals on this occasion. Comfort food was comfort food for a reason. Quinn blushed and bit into her lower lip, dropping her eyes as she nodded. She was so adorable in that moment, and Rachel really wanted to hug her, but instead she cleared her throat and added, "Maybe a brownie for dessert?"

"I'd like that," Quinn replied as she rubbed at the back of her neck and slid her legs off the side of the bed. "Maybe I'll grab a shower while you're gone so I can at least attempt to feel human again."

Rachel nodded, thinking that Quinn looked nearly perfect the way she was except for her red, puffy eyes—well, maybe she could do with a fresh shirt and comb through her hair. "I won't be long," she promised, heading for the door and leaving Quinn to her shower.

The apartment that Quinn shared with her roommates was on Park Street, and the coffee shop Rachel had in her sights was on York. It was an easy walk, only a few blocks, less if she cut across the Yale campus. Either path took her past Davenport Residential College, and her steps slowed. Sarah Cartwright roomed in Davenport, having opted to remain in the dormitories rather than find an apartment off campus as Quinn had done before her junior year began. Rachel had only been to Sarah's room once, since her rare weekend trips to New Haven had tended to feature very little time in the company of Quinn's girlfriend in favor of quality time spent with Quinn herself, but she still remembered the number and where it was. She knew that she should just walk on past, but the urge to give Sarah a piece of her mind on Quinn's behalf outweighed her better judgment, and she found herself taking a detour.

It was only when she was on Sarah's floor that she paused to consider the possibility that the girl might be in class or otherwise out of her dorm. Glancing at her watch, she noted that it was later in the afternoon than she'd realized, so perhaps the likelihood of a class diminished, especially since she was fairly certain that Quinn had once mentioned Sarah's fondness for loading her morning schedule in order to free up the rest of her day for whatever it is that she did in her spare time—probably making little doodles of buildings. It's not as though Sarah had much of a life outside of school and Quinn, so Rachel confidently dismissed the notion that she'd be anywhere other than in her room, studying like the good, little student she was.

If Quinn had been surprised to see Rachel in New Haven, then Sarah was downright shocked when she answered the insistent rapping on her door. Rachel felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at Sarah's appearance—messy hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a stained and oversized Yale sweatshirt, and most importantly, dark circles under bloodshot eyes. She looked to be in almost as bad a state as Quinn, and at the realization, a tiny bit of Rachel's ire drained away to be replaced by an entirely unwanted sprig of sympathy trying to bloom inside of her. Well, she'd have to stomp that right down into the ground!

"Hello, Sarah," she greeted in clipped tones, flipping her hair off her shoulders as she squared them for battle.

"Quinn called you," Sarah deduced flatly.

Rachel crossed her arms and huffed, and there was nothing playful about this one. "Why wouldn't she?" she asked sharply. " _Someone_ has to pick up the pieces now that you've shattered her heart. Do you even have any idea how much you've hurt her?" she wanted to know. Surely, Sarah must have been aware how fragile Quinn could be when it came to matters of the heart.

Sarah turned her gaze away, letting go of the door and rubbing nervously at her left biceps with one hand. "I...I'm sorry for that," she murmured with a sad shake of her head, "but this isn't exactly easy for me either."

"Oh, please," Rachel scoffed, not particularly caring for Sarah's weak apology when the shoulder of her own blouse was still slightly damp from Quinn's tears. "We both know you're doing the easiest thing in the world right now. You're giving up," she pointed out with unconcealed disgust. Aside from the temporary bout of insanity that she'd briefly suffered at the tender age of seventeen when she'd considered trading Broadway for whatever Finn Hudson's latest pipedream had been at the time, Rachel Berry never gave up and took the easy way out of anything.

"I'm letting her go," Sarah corrected in a trembling voice that dripped with pain and regret before she shook her head tiredly and turned back inside her room. "There's a difference," was added so softly that Rachel nearly missed the words entirely.

She seemed to expect Rachel to follow her, or perhaps she merely didn't care one way or the other, but Rachel stepped inside the room, pulling the door closed as she passed it in order to afford them some modicum of privacy. The small, two-bedroom suite was as overcrowded and dreary as Rachel recalled it to be, and she still struggled to picture Quinn spending any significant amount of time there.

"Semantics," Rachel muttered, once again attempting to squash that sprig of sympathy before it could peek up from the dirt. She was only concerned with _Quinn's_ feelings on the matter. "It seems to me that continuing your relationship with Quinn once she's no longer a mere five-minute walk from your door isn't convenient for you, so you're tossing her away," she accused with an emphatic slash of her arm.

"You have _no idea_ what you're talking about," Sarah fired back, losing her composure and brushing angrily at the tears that were making their way over her cheeks without her consent.

"I think I do. I've known Quinn a lot longer than you have." And she knew exactly how hard Quinn was taking this break-up.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and released a ragged breath. "Believe me, I'm very aware of that fact, Rachel," she muttered in resignation.

Rachel just didn't understand, but then she'd never played the role of the martyr unless there was something in it for her. She simply couldn't work out what was going on inside Sarah's head at all. "Then you should believe me when I say that Quinn loves you. She wants to be with you," she found herself saying despite her better judgment. "You're a fool if you let her go without a fight."

Sarah leveled her dark, steady gaze on Rachel until her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "Are you actually trying to convince me to get back together with her?" she asked disbelievingly.

That most certainly was _not_ what Rachel was trying to do—at least, she didn't think it was—but then she remembered the expression on Quinn's face and the emotion in her voice when she'd said she wasn't ready to lose Sarah. Rachel's heart twisted painfully, and she frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. "Look, I know that you and I have our...differences of opinion," she settled on as tactfully as she could, "but in this case, my opinion doesn't really matter," she conceded grudgingly. "Quinn wants you." For some reason, the words tasted more than a little sour in her mouth.

Several uncomfortable seconds of silence passed between them, and Rachel felt the odd urge to look away from those shimmering eyes. "I know," Sarah admitted slowly, "but there are other things she wants more."

Rachel narrowed her gaze. "You know, it's incredibly selfish to expect to be the sole focus of someone's life," she pointed out accusingly. She'd learned that the hard way. Her experience with Finn had showed her both sides of that particular equation, and neither answer had resulted in happiness. Rachel liked to believe that she wouldn't make the same mistake again. In fact, she'd made entirely different mistakes since then.

"That's _not_ what I want," Sarah denied hotly.

"You want Quinn to change her plans for you," Rachel argued, feeling her protective instincts kick in again. Quinn shouldn't ever have to change for anyone.

Sarah sighed wearily. "And you both expect me to change instead."

"That's not what," Rachel began, stopping abruptly when she realized that it could certainly be perceived that way. "You're oversimplifying," she huffed in annoyance. Compromise and sacrifice were two entirely different things. Weren't they?

"In your opinion, which, no offense, really doesn't mean very much to me," Sarah said carelessly, and Rachel was immediately offended on principle.

"You'll never find anyone better than her. You know that, right?" Rachel asked needlessly. They both knew that Quinn Fabray had always been way out of Sarah's league.

The arrow seemed to hit its target perfectly, and Rachel watched Sarah fold in on herself. Her eyes closed briefly as she drew in a heavy breath. "Maybe not," she finally managed, exhaling slowly and meeting Rachel's eyes unflinchingly, "but maybe I'll find someone better _for me_."

For some reason, that didn't sit well with Rachel. It felt like a backhanded insult to Quinn, or perhaps it was only Sarah's frustrating ability to be so irritatingly sensible about everything that really got under her skin. "Well, Quinn will certainly find someone better for _her_ ," Rachel promised harshly.

Sarah swallowed thickly, giving a jerky nod. "I know," she whispered.

Rachel frowned, crossing her arms again. "I just don't understand you at all."

Sarah barked out a short, unamused laugh. "Maybe you do," Sarah muttered, brushing away a lingering patch of moisture from beneath her eye. "After all, we both know I'm not your favorite person, and yet here you are, pleading Quinn's case, just because you want her to be happy."

Rachel did want Quinn to be happy, but, "Your definition of happiness leaves a lot to be desired," she scoffed.

A tiny, cheerless smiled curved Sarah's lips, and she glanced at the wall with distant eyes. "I've finally learned how to step back and take in the whole picture." She rubbed at her arms as her gaze returned to Rachel. "Quinn will…she'll get over me," she stuttered, "and probably faster than I'd like her to," she added ruefully. She shook her head and straightened her posture as she gathered her composure. "I'm sure you'll manage to take her mind off of me just fine once she's in New York."

Well, she was right enough about that. Rachel would do everything she could to help Quinn move on. "You…are a very unpleasant girl," she decided, glaring at Sarah.

Sarah laughed bitterly, brushing past Rachel on her way to the door and jerking it open. "I'd like you to leave now."

Rachel could tell when she'd overstayed her welcome, but she paused on her way out to mutter, "Goodbye, Sarah. I hope you regret hurting Quinn for a very long time," before she continued her storm out with a dramatic huff. She winced in irritation when the door slammed loudly behind her—and was that a muffled scream? Well, at least Rachel had technically gotten the last word, and thankfully, she'd never have to see Sarah Cartwright ever again.

xx

Rachel had never told Quinn about that conversation with Sarah. She'd known that she wouldn't have been able to bear witnessing that moment of undisguised hope flash in Quinn's eyes before Rachel would have to rip it away from her. She'd just hustled to the coffee shop and bought their dinner, adding the biggest brownie they'd had for Quinn because everything was better with chocolate.

Rachel still can't quite reconcile herself to the concept of walking away from someone you still claim to love before you've fought tooth and nail to keep that love alive until the bitter end. It's simply not in her nature. The closest she's ever come to that experience was when she and Peter had broken up before he'd gone to London, and even then, she'd have probably been willing to attempt the distance had the distance, in fact, been more manageable than an expensive international flight across the Atlantic. Of course, Peter hadn't entertained that possibility for even a moment, and in retrospect, Rachel knows that it had been easy for both of them to let go of the relationship because, by that time, it wasn't much more than a comfortable arrangement for them. They'd spent time together when they didn't feel like being alone or were feeling a little horny, but they didn't really miss one another when they were apart.

Not the way she misses Quinn and can't wait to get home to her every night just to sleep in her arms.

But Rachel isn't on her way home to Quinn now. Instead she's on the bus across town with her body back on autopilot, but she knows where she's headed this time. Despite cooling off a little—metaphorically speaking because by now she's perspiring unattractively—she's not ready to see Quinn yet. She doesn't quite trust herself not to either blow up or break down the moment she walks into their apartment.

Rachel is a jealous person by nature, and though she recognizes that particular vice in the mess of emotions surging through her now, it's not what's driving her. It's actually been surprisingly easy to keep her jealousy in check with Quinn because Quinn is just so damn good at loving her and reassuring her everyday that Rachel is the only woman that she wants. Everyday until today.

Quinn has told her so many times and on so many occasions that she's loved Rachel since high school that Rachel has stopped questioning the validity of the statement, dismissing any possibility that it was merely a hyperbole meant to soothe her lingering insecurities. The narrative makes so much sense to Rachel's mind when she replays the entire movie of their lives. The closeted daughter of a conservative family lashing out at the object of her affection until said affection is too strong to be dismissed, the apology and slow build to friendship, the unrequited love, the (unsuccessful) attempt to move on before the ultimate happy ending with the object of her affections who's finally on the same page. Perhaps Rachel isn't actually over her need to be the star in a perfect, romantic script of life—perhaps she's merely recast her leading man to a leading lady instead. Until this morning, she'd certainly done an admirable job of editing out the scenes where her leading lady had been honestly in love with and fully committed to someone else. To Sarah.

Rachel doesn't want to end up being the understudy.

She steps off the bus in Hell's Kitchen and walks the remaining blocks to the semi-luxury apartment building that Kurt is calling home these days. His career in fashion is really beginning to take off, thanks in no small part to the notoriety he'd gotten after designing the costumes for the original show that had made its way onto Broadway back when Rachel was still in _West Side Story._ He'd fallen into the opportunity almost by accident, and in the last two years, his funky costumes had bred funky dresses and jackets, which were growing up to be haute couture.

Rachel needs to see a friendly face right now—someone who will side with her no matter what and not be too quick to point out her overdramatic tendencies. She needs to be overdramatic for a little while longer, thank you very much. Then, once she's thoroughly berated Quinn's insensitivity to her heart's content and made a comprehensive list of every single flaw that Sarah Cartwright possesses, down to her crooked fingers, Kurt can proceed to reassure her that she's amplifying the situation and that Quinn is still ridiculously in love with her and wants to marry her and have her multi-talented babies and probably even has a ring stashed away even as they're speaking that she'll present to Rachel along with the perfect proposal on her birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas, or possibly even on their anniversary next June, regardless of the fact that they haven't seriously discussed the possibility of marriage since they'd moved in together. But she isn't going to dwell on that last part right now.

Kurt opens his door with a wary smile, uncertain as to why he's being visited on a Sunday afternoon when Sundays are Rachel's current Quinn days and he and Santana have been repeatedly chastised for interrupting those days for any reason short of a medical emergency or a zombie apocalypse. His eyes widen when he sees her, and he immediately ushers her inside, cooing, "Oh, honey, you look positively dreadful. What on earth happened to you?"

That's all it takes for her to break down and sob all over his Kurt-Hummel-original silk shirt, but to his credit, he lets her do it without a word, and as soon as she's sufficiently recovered enough to talk, she tells him _everything_.

"Well, I certainly understand why you're upset. You have every right to be," he says some time later, once she's finally quieted. They're cuddled close on his sofa and a rerun of _America's Next Top Model_ is muted on his television. Rachel has lost track of how long they've been in this position, but she knows this isn't the episode that was on when she'd first sat down, which means that she's been here at least an hour or more already.

"Thank you," she breathes, lightly slapping her palm against the cushion in triumph. She feels moderately better that Kurt agrees with her—and without undue prompting.

Kurt nods and flashes her an appeasing grin. "That being said," he drawls thoughtfully, "throwing you over to chase after an ex, especially one as drab and ordinary as Sarah Cartwright," he scorns with a roll of his eyes, "doesn't seem like something our Quinn would do." He pauses and tilts his head to the side, tapping a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "High school Quinn, on the other hand," he trails off meaningfully.

Rachel's tenuous contentment evaporates, and she pulls away from the warmth of Kurt's body with a glare. "She's not like that anymore," she defends heatedly. The only reason Quinn had strayed in high school was because she was still battling her sexuality and looking to find happiness in the wrong gender. Of course, it had been a fruitless quest, and Quinn had made a string of bad choices in her attempts to force some modicum of attraction that was never there on its own.

"Are you certain?" Kurt questions.

"Kurt!" she yells, slapping his chest hard enough to feel the sting in her palm. "You're supposed to be reassuring me that Quinn would never leave me," she informs him in near hysteria, "not attempting to crush my fragile heart completely!"

"I'm merely playing devil's advocate," he placates, rubbing at his abused pectoral.

"Well, stop it," she demands shakily as she leans forward over her knees and runs her fingers through her hair.

Kurt sighs and shuffles closer, wrapping a cautious arm around her again. "Rachel, honey, you know Quinn is crazy about you," he reassures her. "It sounds like she was merely reacting to an unexpected situation in a less than admirable way, which, might I remind you, is a well known Quinn Fabray trait," he reminds her with a wry smile. She nods reflexively, knowing that Quinn's initial reactions to stressful situations aren't always strictly rational or well thought out.

"She shouldn't have taken it for granted that you'd understand and be your typical, far too forgiving self," Kurt adds, punctuating his words with a one-armed hug.

"That's putting it mildly," she mutters, resting her head on his shoulder.

"But I honestly think it was just a thoughtless error in judgment on her part, not a portent of imminent disaster."

Rachel swallows heavily, closing her eyes. "What if…what if you're wrong? What if she tells me that she still has feelings for Sarah?" she asks in a tremulous voice.

Kurt blows out a breath and rests his own cheek against the top of her head. "Then my pullout sofa is yours for as long as you need it," he promises, and Rachel chokes back a sob. Kurt lifts his hand from her waist and begins to run his fingers gently through her hair for a few moments. "And the two of us will hop in a taxi to Queens, sneak into Sarah's apartment while she's sleeping, and shave her hair into a mohawk. That should permanently smother Quinn's libido."

Rachel's sob turns into stifled laughter as the inescapable image appears in her mind. She slaps his thigh lightly. "Kurt! That's awful," she chastises without any bite.

"But you're considering it," he sing-songs wickedly.

"I think we've both been hanging around Santana too much," she reasons.

"Oh, please," he scoffs dismissively, "as if either of us have ever needed Santana Lopez to inspire us to commit nefarious acts against our perceived romantic rivals."

Rachel chuckles again, wiping her tears away as she lifts her head. Kurt had once turned her into a sad, clown hooker to ruin her chances with Finn, and she'd encouraged Finn to spy on Quinn in hopes of breaking them up—amongst other things. They were hardly angels. "We have had our moments."

"Mmmhmm," he agrees mildly. "But I suppose your new rapport with Santana might still come in handy," he muses with mischief dripping from his voice. "She always did accuse Sarah of being a wet-blanket, so I'm certain that she'll be all-too-happy to show her displeasure to Quinn by taking you out to the local bars and hooking you up with a suitable rebound."

Rachel is somehow equally horrified and amused by the possibility. She knows what Kurt is doing. He's attempting to make her smile and build her confidence back up to normal Rachel Berry levels. It's kind of working. "I don't want a rebound," she whines, looking into those kind eyes of his. "I just want Quinn."

"Then go home and talk to her, Rachel," he urges knowingly. "Go fight for your woman."

Rachel snorts, pressing a hand over her mouth and shaking her head. "Okay, you've definitely been spending too much time with Santana," she accuses teasingly. "Don't ever say that again."

Kurt holds up his hands in surrender. "Only if you stop with the doom and gloom and remember how much that woman adores you," he stresses, and Rachel grins a little bit more. "Now, do you want me to call you a taxi?" he asks.

Rachel might be feeling a little insecure and a lot upset right now, but there's no way in hell she's letting Quinn go without a fight. She's nothing like Sarah Cartwright, and she's damn well going to make Quinn remember it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be concluded with Part IV.


	4. With the Sound of 'I Need You'

**Part IV: With the Sound Of 'I Need You'**

It's almost five o'clock, and Quinn is staring at the wall. _The_ wall. Their bedroom wall—the one they've never painted over. She absently reaches out and traces her fingertips around the green infinity symbol, following the loopy script of Rachel's handwriting when she reaches the cursive _love_. A wistful smile curves her lips as she remembers that first morning they'd spent together in _their_ apartment. She sighs raggedly and sits on the edge of their bed, staring out the window instead. The afternoon sun is sinking lower on the horizon, and it won't be much longer before night falls. Despite another message from Rachel that promised they'd talk when she gets home, Quinn still has no idea where her girlfriend is or when she's coming back.

The first hour after their argument had seen Quinn sniffling on the sofa and forlornly playing with Oliver's ears as he'd slept on her lap without a care in the world. The second had been spent banging around the dirty skillet, coffee pot, dishes, and mugs that had been left from their breakfast while she'd scrubbed harshly at the residue on them and bitched about Rachel's diva antics. The third hour had involved a quick trip to the local D'Agostino grocer to buy the ingredients for Rachel's favorite avocado pesto primavera and a suitably passable bouquet of red and white roses to make amends. The fourth hour was when Santana had finally responded to Quinn's frantic text messages, asking if she'd seen or heard from Rachel at all today, with an unapologetic; _**what the fuck did you do?**_

The response was enough to let her know that Rachel hadn't contacted Santana, which meant she was probably with Kurt, who hadn't bothered to return any of Quinn's messages. She hadn't been in the mood to be cursed out for her stupid, insensitivity in two languages, so she'd only texted back that they'd run into Sarah, leaving Santana to assume that it hadn't gone as well as it could have—the understatement of the year. Less than a minute later, her phone had blasted with "Evil Woman," and she'd answered with a wary, "Hello."

" _Puta, tell me you did not just do something incredibly fucking stupid like go all Flashback Barbie with Sarah McSnooze from Saugatuck instead of kicking her ass back to Kalamazoo."_

"She's from Fennville," Quinn muttered.

" _Like I give a fuck!_ " Santana snapped harshly. " _And neither should you. Is that why you can't find your girlfriend? Because you got all sappy-nostalgic with your ex, and Berry Short Temper got fed up with your bullshit? Idiota!"_

"God, Santana, I don't need you to tell me that I fucked up!" Quinn shouted, a fresh wave of tears causing her voice to crack and tremble.

" _Ay, dios,"_ Santana grumbled through the phone before sighing heavily. " _Calm your tits, Q. Rachel will forgive you like she always does, because for some unknown reason, she imprinted on you back in high school even before she went all clingy in love with your too-fine-for-a-white-girl ass, and you know you're never shaking her off your leg now. Look, I've only got, like, a twenty-minute break here. Give me the abbreviated version of what happened, and I'll tell you how expensive you need to go with the bling."_

It was her talk with Santana that forced Quinn to fully acknowledge how deeply she'd probably hurt Rachel. She hadn't considered Rachel's thoughts or feelings at all when they'd seen Sarah this morning, and there was no excuse for it. And _God_ —Rachel had been so much sweeter than she'd deserved, trying to comfort her, and then defend her, and still caring enough to look after her well-being even when Quinn was certain that she'd probably entertained the notion of pushing her down those stairs at least once. Rachel hasn't lost her over-dramatic flair. Quinn never wants her to, despite how much easier it would make her life, especially in moments like this.

So now here she is, alone in their bedroom after slowly pacing around the apartment that she shares with the love of her life and pausing at every reminder of Rachel as she mentally writes and rewrites a suitable apology. The shock of seeing Sarah again has faded, replaced completely by the longing to see Rachel—to hold her, kiss her, and shower her with love and affection. Quinn has done that almost everyday for years, to the point where she'd been absolutely, unshakably certain that Rachel could never doubt her heart or her fidelity. But maybe it hasn't been enough.

The possibility pains her more than she can say. She's tried so hard to shake off the mistakes of her youth and become someone that her partner—that _Rachel_ —can trust wholeheartedly. She can't bear to think that she might have broken that trust.

 _Well, this just isn't happening_ , Quinn decides stubbornly. She hasn't waited this long to get everything she's ever wanted—well, _almost_ everything, but there's still plenty of time for a more permanent, diamond-shaped commitment—only to let it fall apart now. When Rachel comes home, they're going to sit down and talk this out like the rational adults they (mostly) are until Rachel forgives her, and then they can put this whole unpleasant situation behind them and have a nice dinner. She should probably think about getting the pesto sauce started actually. She refuses to consider the possibility that Rachel won't come home at all tonight. She'd promised Quinn that she would, after all, and they've never had an argument serious enough for either of them to abandon their shared apartment completely. Before they'd moved in together, they'd spent some nights apart thanks to their occasionally combative temperaments, but these days, the farthest either of them makes it after a quarrel is the spare bedroom.

Quinn sighs tiredly and drags her fingers through her hair. She drops one hand to absently stroke along Oliver's side where he's stretched out on the mattress, having jumped up beside her as soon as she'd sat down, and her other hand checks for any messages on her phone for what must be the hundredth time today. Oliver jerks beneath her touch, rolling his body into an alert posture as his head comes up and his ears tilt forward over widened eyes. Quinn holds her breath, imagining that her own posture probably mimics the cat, until he lurches off the bed and makes a break for the front door just a few heartbeats before Quinn hears the key in the lock. There's a frantic moment when she can't decide whether to race after him and meet Rachel at the door or play it cool and stay in the bedroom for a minute longer, but in the end, her body makes the decision.

Rachel looks frustratingly calm and unfazed when she walks into the apartment, tossing her keys onto the entry table and greeting Oliver softly while he rubs insistently against her legs and chirps his happiness that she's home. Quinn wrings her hands and slowly shifts her weight back and forth as she gazes at her girlfriend. Rachel looks at her with a stony expression, but Quinn can see the lingering redness in her eyes, and she reels at the evidence that Rachel has likely shed as many tears as she has. God, she hates it when they fight.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers.

She watches Rachel's throat muscles work as she swallows and purses her lips. Her gaze slips away from Quinn and catches on the roses, carefully arranged in a vase on the table. "You bought flowers," Rachel states flatly.

Quinn nods and forces a contrite smile. "And I'm planning to make your favorite dinner."

Rachel makes a sound that's trapped between a whimper and huff before she turns on her heel and paces across the room, stopping to stand in front of the window with hunched shoulders and a bowed head. Quinn feels a lead weight drop into her stomach. She'd been hoping for a more receptive response.

"Rachel, sweetheart," she offers hesitantly as she approaches.

Rachel inhales deeply, her body shaking visibly with the motion before she turns to Quinn with glistening eyes. "Are you still in love with her?" she asks unsteadily.

Quinn doesn't have to ask who Rachel is talking about, but the blunt question still takes her by surprise, just enough to have a startled, "What?" slipping from her lips before she rushes to say, "Oh, Rachel, no."

She supposes that answers her question as to whether Rachel could ever doubt her love, and it feels like her girlfriend just reached inside her chest and ripped out her heart. She wants to cry. She wants to scream at Rachel and demand to know why she suddenly stopped trusting her. But when she sees the fearful uncertainty written all over Rachel's expression, she realizes that her girlfriend is feeling much the same way—has been feeling this way since they'd seen Sarah again.

"I'm in love with you," Quinn vows, the words as natural and vital as the air in her lungs. "Totally and completely." She takes a cautious step forward, brushing a stray curl from Rachel's cheek before she trails the backs of her fingers along her jaw and determinedly catches her gaze. "I've loved you since high school in one way or another."

Rachel exhales shakily, searching Quinn's eyes to see the truth of her words. "But you loved her too. She made you happy," she reminds her meekly.

Quinn's eyelids flutter, and she shakes her head in dismay, dropping her hand limply to her side. _Yes_ , she'd once loved Sarah—had even imagined being able to build a life with her, one where they'd live in New York and occasionally spend an afternoon or an evening in the company of Rachel and whatever man was lucky enough to claim her heart. And Quinn had also imagined being truly and completely happy and no longer feeling that little ache inside of her whenever she thought about Rachel finding her own happiness with someone else. All those things that Quinn hasn't needed to imagine since Rachel had first said those words that she'd waited forever to hear.

" _You_ make me happy, Rach," she swears fervently, holding Rachel's gaze captive with the intensity of her own. "The last few years have been the happiest of my life. God, I'm _so_ sorry that I made you question that for even one minute," she apologizes again. Remorse stings behind her eyes until it escapes in a chaotic trail over her cheek. "I don't even know exactly why I acted the way I did today, but it _wasn't_ about wanting Sarah back or wishing we were still together. Because I don't," she promises ardently. She doesn't want anyone else but Rachel for the rest of her life.

Rachel's lower lip is being worried thoughtfully between her teeth, and her posture is noticeably less defensive. Her arms are loosely resting across her stomach with her right thumb tracing a nervous circle over her left wrist. "It kind of…felt like you might," she finally admits in a hoarse whisper.

Quinn shakes her head in firm denial. "I only want you," she insists, brushing her fingertips along Rachel's arm until she can coax her hand into her own. Once she has it, she maneuvers Rachel into the nearby chair, sitting down across from her on the matching ottoman. "I love you," she says again, keeping Rachel's hand firmly between both of hers and relishing the softness of the skin beneath her touch.

"I love you too," Rachel murmurs before she sighs and drops her gaze to their joined hands. "You know, I do actually understand why you're upset that she's living in New York. I don't like it," she adds quickly, "but I understand it. What really hurt me is that you acted like I wasn't even there. Like...like you were ashamed of our relationship," she admits despondently.

Quinn's heart twists in silent horror, but now that the words are out there, she can see so clearly why Rachel might have felt that way. "I'm not," she swears passionately, lifting a hand to Rachel's cheek again and stroking it lightly with her thumb. "I'm _so_ proud to be with you, Rachel. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. For so many reasons." She would shout it from the top of every building in the city if she weren't afraid of what that could mean to Rachel's blossoming career.

Rachel's lips curve slightly before she gently removes Quinn's hand from her face, brushing a soft kiss to her fingers before she lets go. "Then why didn't you want to tell Sarah that we're together?" she asks after a moment, her expression pensive again. "Why did you feel the need to apologize to her when you didn't do anything wrong?"

Quinn inhales sharply, letting go of Rachel's hand as she bows her head in shame. There's still a part of her that doesn't want to give voice to this—doesn't want to admit that she'd done _so_ many things wrong in her relationship with Sarah.

"Because she was right, Rach. Sarah was right that I never got over you," she confesses quietly, looking up again to meet Rachel's curious gaze. It shouldn't be much of a revelation to her. Quinn had told her when they'd first confessed their feelings to one another that hers had been there since before college—that Rachel had always been in her heart even while she'd been doing her best to move on. She'd just never told Rachel that Sarah had _known_ about those feelings or that Quinn had always attempted to play them off like they were nothing.

"When she and I first started dating, I…I'd told her that a big part of my sexual epiphany had involved a crush on a girl in high school that I'd never had any chance with because she was very straight and very taken." Quinn grins crookedly, rolling her eyes at how wrong she'd ended up being in the long run. Rachel smiles too, nodding in silent encouragement.

Quinn moistens her lips before she continues. "The first time Sarah met you, she...she knew it was you," she reveals meaningfully, never looking away from Rachel's steady gaze. "I never told her, but she figured it out just from watching us together…from watching _me_. I promised her that I was over it…that you were only my friend…but the truth is," she pauses, drawing a breath and holding on to both of Rachel's hands, "even though I thought I was over you enough to move on, there was still this moment, every single time I'd see you again, when I'd stop and wonder what could have happened with us if you'd ever returned my feelings."

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel breathes sympathetically, inching forward to the edge of her chair and dragging their joined hands further into her lap.

"It was so easy to fall back in love with you," Quinn admits with a smile. "It only took a couple of months of living here, seeing you all the time, to be right back where I was before," she hesitates, smile slipping away, "before I met Sarah. It's always been so much easier to blame her for using my move here as a convenient excuse to break up with me than it was to admit that maybe I actually gave her a real reason to think that we could never make it work…that I'd been lying to her as much as I had been to myself." Quinn shakes her head and chuckles ruefully. "If I was hesitant to tell her about us, it's only because I knew that she'd take our relationship as validation that she…she was always my second choice." Quinn does drop her eyes from Rachel's then, catching her lower lip with her teeth.

"Don't," Rachel demands forcefully, punctuating it with a little tug on her hands that pulls Quinn's attention back to her. "Don't you dare let Sarah Cartwright make you feel guilty for following your heart after she was stupid enough to let you go."

"I don't feel guilty about that part, Rach," Quinn assures her, "but I did care about her," she adds cautiously, watching Rachel pout a bit at the admission, "and I do feel badly that I probably hurt her today. And maybe I'm a little ashamed of how _grateful_ I feel that she ended it when she did." She shuffles closer on the ottoman, as close to Rachel as the chair will allow, tangling their legs together in the space between them before she cups Rachel's cheek again. "Because it led me back to you."

Quinn watches Rachel's expression grow tender before she leans forward. "And I'm never letting you go," she whispers against Quinn's lips before brushing a soft kiss across them. "I'm keeping you forever," she promises, pulling back with a warm smile.

It's music to Quinn's ears. _Forever_ with Rachel is exactly what she wants, and she can see it so clearly, touch it; _taste_ it. She exhales in relief, grinning at Rachel. "Even when I'm a bitchy, emotional mess who forgets to tell you how much I love you?" she asks light-heartedly.

Rachel grins back at her, landing another quick kiss. "Especially then. You're _my_ bitchy, emotional mess," she declares possessively, "and I'm yours. You show me everyday how much you love me in so many little ways." She sighs again, shrugging regretfully. "And maybe sometimes I forget that, with you, that means so much more than any words."

"The words are important too," Quinn reminds her, scratching her nails lightly over Rachel's denim-clad thighs. "I love you, Rachel. Only you. And I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"I forgive you," Rachel says with a soft smile, brushing Quinn's hair back from where it had fallen into her eye. "And I love you." The words chase away that final cloud that has been darkening Quinn's turbulent emotions since this morning. "I'm sorry for walking away from you earlier instead of just telling you exactly what was bothering me."

"I suppose storming out of taxi will make for an entertaining footnote in your memoir," Quinn muses.

"Well, yes," Rachel agrees easily, "but that's hardly the point. I was jealous," she admits with a frown. "The minute I saw Sarah today, I wanted to toss her over the balcony, for no other reason than that you used to be _hers_. That…may have influenced my own behavior in some regard," she concedes reluctantly.

Rachel's jealousy has never been hard for Quinn to forgive. She'd spent too many years caught up in her own jealousy and envious of everyone else who'd found himself to be the object of Rachel's occasionally obsessive affections. "I forgive you," Quinn assures her, stealing a kiss from pouting lips that's neither brief nor particularly soft. Rachel moans appreciatively, opening her mouth to Quinn's teasing tongue and tangling her fingers into blonde hair before she slides off the chair completely, practically crawling into Quinn's lap. Quinn welcomes her happily. The only thing she doesn't hate about fighting with Rachel is making up with Rachel.

"I _really_ wanted to push her off that balcony," Rachel murmurs unexpectedly, breaking the kiss.

Quinn laughs, adjusting her hold on Rachel's hips in an effort to get more comfortable. Her leg and lower back aren't really appreciating the awkward position they're in right now, but she's been wanting to hold Rachel like this all day, and she's not about to say or do anything to make her move away. "It's good that you didn't."

Rachel runs her tongue over her lips invitingly. "I also _really_ wanted to jump on top of you," she drawls in smoky tones, lifting her body up just enough to reposition her legs, "and stake my claim," she slides down sensuously until she's fully straddling Quinn, "so your ex-girlfriend knows that she never gets to touch you ever again," she finishes as she threads her fingers back into Quinn's hair.

Quinn groans in a strangled mix of pleasure and pain. "B-but you…you didn't," she gasps.

"But I'm going to now," Rachel husks wickedly.

Her hungry mouth devours the protest that had been forming on the tip of Quinn's tongue. She wants Rachel— _God_ , does she want her!—but Quinn also wants to be the one worshiping and adoring and thoroughly reminding Rachel that she's the only woman for Quinn, preferably in their bed. But Rachel doesn't seem to be in the mood for slow and gentle as evidenced by the rough drag of blunt nails against Quinn's scalp.

Quinn shifts beneath her, attempting to slide them back further on the ottoman as she curls her own fingers into Rachel's ass and pulls her tight. The ache in her back and leg are forgotten in favor of a far more pleasurable one. Rachel rolls her hips needfully, tugging at Quinn's hair as she catches her lower lip between gentle teeth before letting it go with a satisfied grin. Quinn groans again, chasing Rachel's delectable mouth, but the fists still wound into her hair stop her short. "Rachel," she whines.

The grin transforms into a smirk. "That's right, baby," Rachel purrs. "You just keep saying that name." She scratches lightly at nape of Quinn's neck with one hand, sending shivers down her spine and fire through her blood. "By the time I'm done with you, it's the only one you'll remember."

Quinn closes her eyes and grunts out a guttural, "Fuck."

"Oh, we're going to," Rachel promises with a glint in her eyes, rocking gently on her lap as she dips her head to claim another lustful kiss. She slips her fingers out of Quinn's hair and scrapes them all the way down her back on a greedy path until they catch on the hem of her shirt, twisting into the material and dragging it up insistently.

Quinn groans again, falling headfirst into the passion that always sparks so easily between them. She releases her grip on Rachel's ass and leans back enough to allow her persistent girlfriend to drag the soft cotton up over her head. Rachel tosses it away carelessly before her hands are feathering over every naked curve that's exposed, and her lips wreak havoc at the base of Quinn's neck, nibbling at the sweet spot where it meets her shoulder so deliciously that Quinn can feel it all the way to her center. Her hands wind into Rachel's hair to urge her on as her head tips to the side.

"Your mouth is heaven," she mumbles and feels Rachel smile against her skin.

That mouth moves swiftly to her ear and whispers, "Just wait," making Quinn shudder in pleasure even as Rachel's fingers easily unhook her bra and urge the straps off her shoulders. Quinn lets her strip it away, resting her hands on Rachel's hips as she watches dark eyes caress her breasts before eager fingers join them to tease her already stiff nipples with expert strokes.

Quinn hisses in approval, reaching up to curl a palm around the back of Rachel's neck and pull her down into another torrid kiss. Once those heavenly lips are sufficiently imprisoned by her own, Quinn drags her own hands over Rachel's blouse, ripping sloppily at the buttons until one actually does pop loose and skitter across the floor. Distantly, she hears Oliver, who had been watching them warily from his perch on the sofa, jump down with a predatory mewl and bound after the button with playful enthusiasm.

Rachel's teeth tug roughly at Quinn's lower lip before she pulls back just far enough to growl, "You're sewing that back on."

Quinn smirks rakishly, arching an eyebrow. "You want me to do it now?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Priorities, Quinn," she grunts, removing her glorious touch from Quinn's breasts only to grip the open edges of her shirt and jerk it off her shoulders. Quinn helps her shrug it off completely before grabbing her hands and guiding them back to her aching breasts. Rachel grins approvingly. "That's more like it."

Quinn smiles, leaning in for another kiss and fully intending to bare Rachel's gorgeous breasts to her own eager hands, but Rachel evades her. Quinn's whimpering protest turns into a moan when Rachel devilishly scrapes her nails over budded nipples before trailing a path down her ribs and belly. She gracefully slips off Quinn's lap and onto the floor, urging Quinn's legs apart so she can kneel between them. And then her lips close over Quinn's left nipple, and Quinn hisses an eager, "Yes," as she buries her fingers into Rachel's hair again, arching into the beautiful mouth and skilled tongue that set her body on fire.

Rachel _really_ doesn't need to worry about Quinn wanting anyone else. In moments like this, no one and nothing else exists for her. Only Rachel. _Always_ Rachel.

Quinn hooks her legs around Rachel's waist, wishing there was nothing between them now, and rakes her nails down Rachel's back, stopping to open her bra and pull it loose. She leaves it to hang off her shoulders before maneuvering her arms between their bodies to press her palms against her girlfriend's, "Perfect fucking tits."

Rachel chuckles against her breast, closing her teeth around the nipple in her mouth and pulling lightly before she lets go. "Magna cum laud from Yale with an degree in English," she tisks, licking Quinn's nipple for good measure before she looks up, "and that's how you sweet-talk me?"

Quinn groans and rocks forward, catching Rachel's mouth with her own as she worships the flesh in her hands. After a moment, she softens the kiss until she's barely touching Rachel's lips. " _Her breast is fit for pearls, but I was not a diver_." She feels and hears Rachel inhale sharply before she moans quietly, and Quinn smiles, pulling back far enough to gaze into dark, hooded eyes. " _Her brow is fit for thrones, but I have not a crest_ ," Quinn continues, ghosting a brief kiss over Rachel's forehead. " _Her heart is fit for home,"_ she whispers, pressing a warm palm between Rachel's breasts, over her pounding heart. " _I, a Sparrow, build there, sweet of twigs and twine. My perennial nest._ ¹"

Rachel's hands scrabble for position on Quinn's waist as she shudders, eyelids fluttering closed on a gasp of pleasure. "You need to be naked," she growls, focusing a heated gaze on Quinn. "Right now," she demands, tugging mindlessly at the button of Quinn's khaki Capris. Her bra, still hanging off her body, slips down her arms to delay her, and she growls again, tearing it off and carelessly throwing it away before attacking Quinn's zipper.

Quinn's breath catches at the fierce look in Rachel's eyes, and she plants her feet on the floor and her hands on the ottoman, lifting her hips to allow her girlfriend to pull her pants and panties down in one fluid motion. Then Rachel is back between her legs, tugging her hips forward and peppering fevered kisses to her chest and breasts. She urges Quinn's legs back around her waist before she sneaks a hand between their bodies, finding Quinn's clit and caressing it with her fingertips.

"Fuck," Quinn grunts, falling back slightly and planting a palm behind her to hold her weight. Her lower back screams in protest, but the intense pleasure building beneath Rachel's touch is enough to ignore the discomfort. Her other hand buries itself back into Rachel's hair, pressing her closer. "Fuck, Rachel, please," she whines as she rocks her hips into Rachel's skilled hand.

"I love you so much," Rachel breathes into her skin reverently. "Let me show you. Let me _love_ you," she pleads, dragging her mouth lower.

Quinn whimpers again as the words explode inside of her, warming her heart and pumping flames into every molecule of her body. Her belly tightens, and she shifts restlessly on the ottoman, craving everything Rachel wants to give—craving _Rachel_. "Love me, Rachel," Quinn urges. "I'm yours," she vows, bracing herself when Rachel responds with a moan of approval and sure fingers that push her closer to the pinnacle with every stroke.

Rachel sinks down lower on her knees, spreading Quinn's legs wider before bowing her back and pressing a wet kiss low on Quinn's belly, just above where Quinn needs her most. Quinn hisses and jerks her hips, letting go of her grip on silky, dark hair because she needs both arms to support herself when Rachel swiftly replaces her fingers with her tongue.

"Oh, God, yes," she hisses, feeling her world sharpen on that one spot where Rachel's mouth is driving her wild. Her head falls back in ecstasy, and her gaze grows fuzzy on the ceiling while her body coils tighter. Her back aches, her arms are shaking, and her legs strain and tremble, but she's helpless to do anything but ride it out as she races closer to orgasm.

Rachel hooks one arm around Quinn's thigh to hold her open while kneading into the muscles there, and she tilts her head, lapping through Quinn's folds and teasing her entrance with shallow thrusts of her tongue. Quinn rolls her hips, searching desperately for the precipice while senseless moans and whimpers tumble from her lips. Rachel reaches up, seamlessly rolling Quinn's nipple between her fingers as she worships her clit.

Quinn gasps out a strangled, "Rach...el."

Rachel hums wickedly against her over-sensitized flesh, sending vibrations of the most exquisite pleasure zinging though Quinn like lightening. Her body arches hard against that extremely talented tongue, snapping the coil inside of her until she shatters into tiny shards of wondrous exaltation, and she cries out her release. Rachel's mouth softens against her, drawing out her climax as much as she can before bringing her back down gently.

Quinn's body jerks and shivers, her muscles going lax as she slips down on useless arms. For a moment, she expects to fall back off the ottoman into a boneless mess on the floor, but Rachel somehow catches her around her upper back—she's a lot quicker and stronger than anyone would expect—and pulls her back up with a breathless grunt. Quinn has just enough strength to loop her arms around Rachel's shoulders and collapse into her, panting heavily.

Rachel holds her close, rubbing gentle circles over her sweaty back and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "You're so beautiful when you come for me," she murmurs.

Quinn chuckles languidly. "Only then?"

Rachel hugs her closer. "You're always beautiful," she whispers, lifting a hand to comb lazy fingers through Quinn's hair. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world."

Quinn shakes her head against Rachel's shoulder. "Second luckiest," she protests. "I think I win this one, sweetheart."

Rachel chuckles quietly. "We'll call it a draw then."

"Always a competition with you," Quinn says with a fond smile, finding the energy to sit up and look into Rachel's amused eyes. "But I wouldn't have you any other way." She brushes a tender kiss over those luscious lips. "I really love you, Rachel."

Rachel's tranquil expression grows more serious. "I'm sorry I ever doubted it for even a second."

"Enough of that," Quinn insists, tired of the apologies and eager to leave today's unpleasantness in the past. She doesn't want to waste anymore time punishing herself or Rachel for silly fears and insecurities that they've mostly worked through just because of one temporary setback that they both clearly regret. "We have more important matters to attend to. Preferably in a bed," she drawls suggestively.

Rachel's lips quirk into a crooked grin. "I think my knees agree with you."

"Your knees and my back," Quinn says unthinkingly, dropping one hand to rub at her aching muscles.

Rachel's eyes widen in alarm, and she gasps. "Quinn! Why didn't you say something?" she demands, pressing her own palms to Quinn's back in concern.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's fine, Rach. Just a minor annoyance." Rachel studies her worriedly, biting into her lip, and Quinn smiles gently and brushes back her hair with loving fingers. "I promise. Now let me take you to bed."

Rachel shakes her head in exasperation. " _You_ ," she stresses, "are going _to rest_." She pushes herself up from the floor with a muted grunt, holding out her hands for Quinn to take.

Quinn frowns up at her. "I don't need _rest_ ," she grumbles stubbornly, but she does place her hands into Rachel's open palms and allows her girlfriend help her stand—albeit a little shakily. She covers it easily, ignoring Rachel's suspicious gaze and leaning into her to press their naked chests together enticingly. "I need _you_."

Rachel moans, eyelids fluttering before she wraps her arms around Quinn and places a kiss her collarbone. "I need you too," she echoes, lifting soft eyes to Quinn's face. "But not at the expense of your well-being."

Quinn scoffs, trailing her hands down Rachel's back and cupping her denim covered behind—it's really a shame that she isn't completely naked yet. "Just because I can't actually carry you to the bed right now doesn't mean I'm not perfectly capable of ravishing you once we're there." She dips her head and kisses her girlfriend deeply, savoring the way Rachel melts into her like she wants to crawl inside her skin. Quinn pulls back with sexy smirk. "Let me have my wicked way with you, Rachel," she prompts, pressing their hips closer.

Rachel's face is so beautifully conflicted. Quinn can see the concern lingering there, but at the same time, she knows just how aroused Rachel is right now. "If you're certain that you're not in too much pain," she trails off hopefully.

"Oh, sweetie, pain is the furthest thing from what I'm feeling right now," Quinn assures her.

Rachel smiles again, nodding slightly and pecking Quinn's lips before stepping out of her embrace. She takes Quinn's hand and lazily guides her toward their bedroom. Quinn quickly snags a single red rose from the vase before she dutifully follows Rachel, tracing her gaze lovingly over the naked elegance of her back where it meets the curve of her ass in those blue jeans. Rachel really should wear them more often. They're extremely flattering to her figure.

As they enter the bedroom, Quinn pulls her eyes away from Rachel's body to perform a cursory sweep for signs of the cat. He'd made himself scarce once they'd started tossing clothing around the living room, having learned from experience by this point that he doesn't really want to be around when his owners get frisky. She doesn't see him anywhere, so she lets go of Rachel's hand and closes the door behind them, not wanting any distractions.

She steps closer to Rachel before she has the chance to turn, slipping her arms around her from behind and pressing her breasts into Rachel's back in the most delightful way. She gently brushes the petals of the rose in her hand over Rachel's breasts, and Rachel leans into Quinn with a hum of pleasure as she strokes her fingers over Quinn's forearms where they rest against her body.

" _Oh, my love is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June_ ," Quinn murmurs, kissing Rachel's cheek while her free hand dips lower on Rachel's belly, fingertips teasing just beneath the waistline of her jeans. " _Oh, my love is like the melody that's sweetly played in tune_.²"

Rachel wantonly presses her ass back into Quinn's hips. "Are you trying to get into my pants?" she asks breathlessly.

"What gave me away?" Quinn teases, working Rachel's button open with a twist of her fingers and sliding down the zipper enough to slip her hand down farther. She moans in appreciation when she feels the incredible, wet heat that's waiting there just for her.

Rachel's hips jerk into her touch, and she hisses, digging her nails into Quinn's skin. "This isn't the bed," she protests half-heartedly. Quinn chuckles and nuzzles that spot just behind her ear that makes her shiver and gasp while her fingertips skate around Rachel's clit. "Quinn, baby, please," Rachel groans, trying to keep her hand still. "This will be over really fast if you don't stop," she warns desperately.

Quinn takes pity on her, reluctantly dragging her hand away from where it wants to be and pressing a kiss to Rachel's shoulder. Rachel turns in her arms and drags her mouth down into a frantic kiss. Quinn blindly tosses the rose towards the mattress, uncertain if it makes its destination, before her hands are back inside Rachel's jeans, this time palming her ass. Rachel moans into her mouth, clinging to her shoulders as she stumbles backward until her legs hit the bed.

Quinn follows helplessly, unwilling to break their connection and only doing so when Rachel tears her mouth away with a frustrated growl. She clumsily pushes the denim down over her hips, tripping herself up enough with her eagerness to fall awkwardly onto the bed. Quinn laughs joyfully at the sight, feeling her heart swell with affection even as Rachel glares at her. Exhaling harshly, Rachel attempts to blow the hair out of her eyes as she props herself up on her elbows. "You could give me a hand here."

Quinn attempts to stifle her laughter, grinning wickedly. "I was trying to before but you told me to stop."

"Quinn," Rachel whines, lifting her legs up plaintively in a silent request for Quinn to help her.

Quinn snickers but tugs off Rachel's flats before she grabs the bunched jeans at her knees and shimmies them the rest of the way off her body. "Scoot your adorable, little butt over," she orders, shooing Rachel into the middle of the bed before she crawls onto the mattress and kneels over her girlfriend.

Apparently, her aim with the rose had been pretty good, because Rachel somehow found it and has it between her fingers, breathing in its scent with a soft smile. "The roses really are lovely," she murmurs dreamily.

" _You're_ lovely," Quinn tells her, running the backs of her fingernails over the inside of Rachel's calves on a slow journey up. Rachel lowers the rose to her chest, following Quinn's progress with dark, hungry eyes. "Every inch of you...from your exquisite legs," Quinn purrs, pausing to tug Rachel's lacy, blue panties down over those legs with careful patience. She forces herself to skip over the temptation of Rachel's glistening sex and quickly places an open palm over her stomach instead. "To your cute, little belly," she continues with a smirk as she lies down next to her girlfriend's hip and feathers a kiss over the quivering muscles beneath her touch.

"You missed something," Rachel complains breathlessly.

Quinn playfully swats her hip. "I'm not missing anything," she corrects, gazing up at Rachel's face with well-practiced sternness. "No interrupting my train of thought." Rachel's unruly giggles vibrate through them both, and Quinn sighs, "I guess I'll just have to start from the top."

"Oh, no," Rachel attempts to protest when Quinn pulls away and shimmies the rest of the way up the mattress to settle fully over her. She revels in the feeling of having their bodies pressed together so perfectly as she grins down at the woman she loves. She could happily stay here forever, in this bed—in this moment.

"Now where was I?" she wonders roguishly, tipping her head thoughtfully.

"Not here," Rachel grumbles good-humoredly, "but I suppose it will have to do." She loops her arms around Quinn's neck—the rose forgotten on the bed next to them for the time being—and pulls her down into a loving kiss.

Quinn smiles against her lips, nowhere near done with her sexy teasing. It's time for her to worship and adore, and she intends to take her time. "Your sweet lips," she murmurs. "Better than the finest chocolate."

Rachel giggles and drags her foot up the back of Quinn's leg. "Are you really doing this?" she questions with a grin.

"You're interrupting again," Quinn informs her dismissively before ducking her head down to nibble Rachel's neck.

Rachel groans, shifting restlessly beneath her. "You can be exceptionally maddening at times, Quinn Fabray."

"Your resilient loquaciousness," Quinn comments, sliding lower to trail her tongue over Rachel's clavicles.

Rachel scrapes her nails down Quinn's back. "You…you were supposed to say my elegant neck."

Quinn hums in muted agreement, flattening her tongue against the upper swells of Rachel's breasts and tasting the saltiness of her skin. She works her hand between their bodies to scrape her fingers over a hardened nipple, making Rachel inhale shakily. "Your amazing breath control," Quinn comments reverently. She's become _very_ appreciative of that over the years.

Rachel exhales on an aroused chuckle. "And my perfect fucking tits?" she questions, threading her fingers into Quinn's hair and trying to urge her down just a little bit more.

Quinn pauses to flash her a cheeky grin. "Absolutely flawless," she agrees. "I might be here awhile," she cautions with a wink before she dips her head back down to give them the attention they deserve. Rachel had distracted her from fully enjoying them earlier.

Rachel moans and arches her back, rocking her hips against Quinn's stomach in an attempt to get some friction. Quinn loves the way Rachel moves beneath her—caught in a storm of mindless passion, demanding even in submission. The sounds that fall from her lips compose a wild symphony of pleasure, as discordant as it is musical. Quinn fucking loves it. She _loves_ reducing Rachel to this mess of wanton need.

She showers attention on Rachel's breasts, alternating between them with her mouth and hands. Rachel bluntly scratches at her scalp and shoulders, whining, "Please, baby. I need you. I need you to make me come."

Quinn circles the tip of her tongue around the nipple in her mouth, deciding that maybe it's time to move this inventory of all of Rachel's lovely parts a little bit lower. One palm continues to play with Rachel's breast as she licks a path down her belly and across her abdominal muscles. "Your voluptuous hips," she says with a mischievous bite there.

"Damn it, Quinn," Rachel grunts, pushing at her shoulder with one hand. "You covered this part already."

"I believe that was your cute belly, and you made me lose my place again," she teases, moving halfway back up Rachel's body.

Rachel's eyes widen and she shakes her head frantically, trying to stop her. "Don't you fucking dare, Quinn. You get back down there right now!"

Quinn arches an eyebrow in subtle chastisement. "No. More. Interruptions," she commands, punctuating it with a gentle twist of Rachel's nipple.

Rachel arches her neck against the mattress, closing her eyes and moaning gutturally. "Whatever you want," she swears urgently. "Just…please. _Please_ , take me," she begs.

Quinn grins triumphantly, sliding back down to give her lady what she needs. She breathes in the scent of Rachel's arousal as she presses a teasing kiss to the inside of her thigh. Rachel whimpers again, tugging at Quinn's hair insistently.

"Your unconcealed passion for me," Quinn notes proudly, admiring the beautiful feast spread out beneath her before finally allowing herself the taste she's been craving.

"God, yes! All for you," Rachel cries out, hips flying off the mattress at the first touch of Quinn's mouth against her center. Quinn presses her back down, moaning in delight at the heady flavor exploding on her tongue. She can feel Rachel's stomach muscles quivering again, and she realizes just how close to the edge her girlfriend is right now. She could so easily draw this out even more, building Rachel up only to calm her down again with feather light touches and poetry, but she can feel Rachel's need surging through her like an earthquake and wants to make her fall to pieces.

One of Rachel's hands is still tangled in Quinn's hair and the other is cupping her own breast and dragging the nipple between her fingers. Her entire body is moving in barely controlled frenzy, and the wonderful sounds of Rachel's delight fill the room. Quinn knows just how to turn up the volume, twisting her shoulders slightly to slide a hand between Rachel's legs and slip her fingers inside that incredible wetness. Rachel's walls tighten around Quinn immediately, and her body jerks. "Oh, fuck. Qui-inn," she keens, tugging the hair in her hands.

Quinn smiles against her, not minding the pain in the least and continuing to suckle her clit while she curls her fingers to find that spot that really makes Rachel sing. Rachel's body begins to quake as she pushes off the mattress and into Quinn's mouth and hand, crying out. Quinn flutters her fingers, spearing her tongue against the bud between her lips, and Rachel explodes, screaming out her name along with a chorus of _I love yous_.

When her body begins to relax, Quinn presses a kiss to the top of Rachel's thigh and gently frees her fingers, sucking them into her mouth out of habit to enjoy every last drop of Rachel's pleasure. Rachel shudders and gasps all over again, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm. Quinn catches her flailing hand and entwines their fingers, slowly kissing her way up Rachel's sweat-soaked body. The hand in Quinn's hair slips free and cups the nape of her neck as she settles at Rachel's side with lips pressed to her still-racing pulse Quinn tangles their legs together on the mattress as Rachel hugs her weakly and attempts to even out her breathing. Quinn smiles against her heated skin, feeling content despite her own unsated desire.

"You...you weren't...ex...exaggerating...about...ravishing me," Rachel pants.

Quinn chuckles, brushing back Rachel's damp hair. "Loving you, Rach," she corrects softly. "I'm loving you."

Rachel smiles drowsily. "You're _really_ good at it," she murmurs. "Someone should...give you an award."

"Someone already did," Quinn whispers fondly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm holding it right now." And she's never giving it back either. She'd won Rachel's heart fair and square. Any others that she might have collected over the years are only honorable mentions in comparison.

Rachel's smile widens, and she cuddles closer. "Are you trying to get into my pants again?"

Quinn bites back happy laughter, rubbing her thigh against Rachel's leg impishly. "You're not wearing any, sweetie," she reminds her, stroking her naked hip with lazy fingers.

Rachel trails her hand down Quinn's back and cups her ass. "Well, isn't that convenient?" she muses, eyes twinkling with renewed energy.

"Mmmhmm," Quinn hums in agreement, finding Rachel's mouth for a sensual kiss as their mutual passions spark and crackle to life once again.

Outside, the city comes alive with streetlights and neon, but inside their apartment, the night is ablaze with the promise of love, written with intimate strokes across one another's bodies as surely as it's written on the wall. All their past hurts fade into the shadows, and there's no one and nothing else but the two of them and their bright future together. Quinn is exactly where she belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ _"Her Breast Is Fit For Pearls," Emily Dickinson_  
>  ² _"A Red, Red Rose," Robert Burns_


End file.
